This is War
by xXThisIsWarXx
Summary: 24 tributes go in every year, each one with their own untold story. Discover the secrets hidden deep within every tribute's head in this 24/24 collaboration of the 34th annual Hunger Games, where you can see everyone's side of the story.
1. District 1 Reaping

**A/N: **Hi everyone!

I'd like to start by welcoming you to the first chapter of _This is War. _This story is a 24/24 collaboration which, for those of you who don't know, is something where 24 different authors take on the roles of 24 different tributes in the Hunger Games, so we get to see the story from a bunch of different people. Sadly, I, nor any of our authors, can take credit for this idea. 24/24 stories were created by the writers of _Tears of Blood_, which I suggest you guys check out as well, it's amazing!

We've already had a few authors who have regretfully left this story, but we're still going to try our hardest to bring it to you. The writers we have left are: Dinashadow, careerinfatuation, sMoShFiRe, BunburyHope, PrettyBandgirl XD, Enzonia, pixiestix365, CapitolEffie, katsparkle13, Sammy'sPeetaBread, Caprisky, Spaidel, Doc95, Ambs15, 13ASB, HAPPY KID 21, maggiemoo1113, and IAmTheMockingjay1. As you can see, we have a lot of people working on this! All of the authors will be able to be found under this account's "favorite authors" section of the profile.

Alright, so I've probably bored you enough. I now present you with District 1's reaping of the 34th annual Hunger Games!

~ Head Gamemaker Xavier

P.S. Don't forget to review!

* * *

_**Abilee Wilkin**_

_**By:**__**Dinashadow**_

* * *

My alarm buzzes at exactly 7:15 a.m. like it has every day of my life. Usually I wake up feeling refreshed, but today I'm feeling a little faint.

Mama says it's safer here than it was in District 3, but nothing she says can quell the raging feeling I have in the pit of my stomach on the one day that happens approximately every 365.25 days. Reaping day.

I dress myself carefully, and for once I force a brush through my mangled dirty blond waves. My Nana always told me that I was the most beautiful girl in the world, but I never believed it. Maybe I could be pretty, I am tall, and have long hair, but it's always frizzed out. I don't usually notice myself, but nothing gets by my peers. My large eyes and long eyelashes should be attributes of an attractive face, but I do not hold it well. My mother once scolded me as a child for looking like "a deer caught in the headlights" or for not paying attention. My father would scold me for not listening to him. I don't remember those days, but my mother has told me that nobody ever expected me to follow in their steps.

My parents are two of the brightest minds in Panem, that's why we were relocated here in District 1, as it is the closest district to the beloved Capitol and they were needed to execute specific work there. I never really fit in with my peers at District 3, but at least there my quirkiness was tolerated. In District 1, there is no shortage of nasty girls, and boys who have a bit of a superiority complex, especially the ones who are Hunger Games volunteers and proud of it. Here in District 1 my peers are just dying, pun not intended, to be in the Games.

That's why today, reaping day, I should be feeling safer. Reaping day at home meant multiple panic attacks throughout the day, my mother having to calm me, and at least three knitted scarves that I made while trying to calm my fear.

I traipse out to our kitchen where breakfast sits on the table; oatmeal with raisins, and peanut butter toast. It's a treat from my mother to me on reaping day. Peanut butter is one of my favorite foods, and one of the harder products to find on the store shelves, and if you can it'll cost you most of your week's paycheck.

"Thank you, Mother," I say quietly and she smiles back at me. She knows that I am entirely grateful even if I have trouble expressing my feelings to others. I'm always appreciative of what my mother and father have done for me and all the support they've given me even if I am thought of as a "weird daughter" as some of their coworkers have put it.

Mama and Father chat idly over breakfast about their lab work for today. I am quiet, but that's nothing new. I mostly live in my head, and hardly ever speak a word, but right now I desperately need to ask my mother a question.

I meekly clear my throat and make eye contact with my mom. I scoot around restlessly and finally she notices and addresses me.

"What is it Abi dear?"

"I was wondering if I'd be allowed to stay home from school today."

My mother contemplates my question carefully.

"I'm going to say no, but only because you have nothing to worry about dear. If you're name happens to be drawn, you know there will be someone to take you place."

I lose my appetite right away, but finish off my toast anyways, as to not anger my mother. Then I excuse myself and run to my room where I can be safer. I hug my knees into my chest, and bury my head. If I were an animal, I would want to be a turtle just so I had someplace to hide when I was afraid.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I untangle myself from my fetal position and pick up the knitting that's sitting on my bedside table. I'm working on an afghan for my Nana. She is at one of the nicest hospitals in Panem on the outskirts of District 1. This was another reason why we moved. My parents are close to the Capitol, and my Nana is in good hands.

My Nana is my mother's mother, and the most important person in my life. Only in her company can I talk and talk without judgment from her. It's always been easier for me to speak. She watched me while I was a child and my parents were at the Capitol working on whatever technology was in the works at the time. My grandmother always believed in me, especially when my parents thought I was some kind of mental child that needed special care. Thanks to her my real potential emerged. Luckily the only child of two bright minds inherited their genes. My precision and knowledge of science is one that is unmatched, and I've put many devices together without a second thought. The Capitol has some plans for the Wilkin's daughter, they just don't quite know the baggage I'll be carrying with me in whatever work environment I land it. I surely shut all my critics' mouths though.

I enjoy helping out my parents. As I mentioned before they've done a lot for me, and have "spoiled" my unnatural behaviors, once again this is according to their coworkers.

I like the sound of the way the knitting needles click each time they intercept paths.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

It's a steady rhythm, one that is planned and controlled, with equal intervals between each click.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

"Abilee." My mother knocks softly on my door.

"Yes?"

"It's time for school."

I place my shoes on and exit my safe house. My mother places her palm on my back and leads me out the door. Her touch is comforting and I'm feeling okay about going to school.

At least I was.

As soon as I touch my feet to the hallway floor I hear the word Hunger Games over and over. It's like some kind of celebration, and between the constant noise, and the content of their yelling voices I feel like I'm going to have a breakdown. I bolt into my classroom immediately. I never understood why I had to come here. I am literate, and my IQ is way above average. However, the Capitol still forces me to attend school to learn about such topics as Panem History, and whatnot, where they cram propaganda in my head.

Unfortunately as soon as I enter the classroom, my peace is interrupted by this year's volunteers and their cheering squad. I try to squash myself as far back in my chair as I can in hopes that I may become part of the furniture and disappear from this nightmare.

Arion and Opal.

The boy is tall and built like the typical career. He's also arrogant, overly confident, and the topic of most of my female peers. Arion is in every single one of my classes and so throughout the day I must deal with his pride.

"Hey Abi," he nods to me in greeting, and I squish back into my seat.

He's never muttered a word to me, but decides to be friendly today. I don't understand. His friends must have bet him to greet the weird girl to add to today's happiness. Why are people so cruel?

When I don't answer he shrugs his shoulders and takes a seat next to his soon-to-be district partner. I know nothing about Opal, except that her family has money. She's quiet, like me, but it's more of an intimidating quiet that keeps others away.

Luckily the drone of my teachers keeps me from having a mental breakdown. I sit in the back and doodle in my notebook. The sound of the pen scribbling against paper gives me the impression that I do have control over my life. I can control this pen, and therefore I can control my destiny.

* * *

As soon as I get home I find a snack sitting on the table and once I finish eating I climb out of my clothes and into the bath. This is the reaping tradition of my house, which runs on routines. Routines keep our world moving in a perfect orbit, or that's what my father has said before and I'm not going to argue with that.

Mother has set out my usual reaping outfit. It's my favorite dress, light blue like the morning sky. It's strapless, so I pull a white cardigan over. I smooth over my clothes in an orderly fashion to remove any excess wrinkles that may be leftover even after ironing.

My mother does my hair, as she has always done. I think she is the only person who can tame the mess on my head, and she tops it off with a headband.

She pulls me into a hug, usually there are tears, but she knows I'm going to be safe. I just wish I knew that too.

I grip her hand as we walk over to the square. There are many girls wearing exquisite dresses and dotted with jewels and gemstones. My plainness makes me stick out like a sore thumb. The only thing adorning my wrist is my lucky bracelet. It's wide, and covers my whole wrist. It's made of almost one-hundred percent iron. Iron is the most useful element on Earth and it's hard to extract it in its purest form and so it's covered by a protective film to keep away corrosion. Most people laugh at my silly bracelet, but it's been good luck for me so far.

Mama kisses me on the cheek and sends me off towards the check-in stand. This is the worse part of the reaping. They use an electric device to prick your finger and take your blood just to be sure it's you that's signing in for yourself and not somebody else. Nobody gets out of the reaping and the Capitol makes sure of that.

"Next!" A Peacekeeper yells and I snap out of my thoughts and realize I'm next. I hurry to the table, and she sighs in frustration as she grasps my hand roughly.

"Name?" She asks bluntly.

"Abilee Wilkin," I practically whisper.

"What? Speak up!" She commands.

"Abilee," my voice cracks, "Wilkin."

She turns to the page where there's a spot reserved with my name. Then she moves the small device over my finger.

I sing to myself and squeeze my eyes shut. The Peacekeeper clicks a button and a sharp needle pierces through my skin. She rubs my hand roughly under my name and then scans it. My DNA matches the system as Abilee Wilkin and she shoos me away.

I look at my blood and cringe, wiping it on the underside of my dress. I can deal with blood, but seeing my own makes me feel faint.

I make my way towards the front where the older children stand. I am practically near the front. Nobody looks at me as I file my way in, and I take observation of my surroundings.

The atmosphere is different here than it was in District 3. Here everybody chats good-naturedly. The little children are not crying and instead running rampant around the aisles until a Peacekeeper yells and they go back to their designated areas. The girls next to me are talking about going shopping, and how cute Arion is.

Before I know it our escort is prancing towards the stage and bouncing up their stairs like a ball of happiness.

She leans into the microphone and flashes her brightest smile.

"Hello District 1, as you know my name is Sunshine Pana, and I am District 1's escort! I am so happy to be here again, and I know my fellow escorts are just as jealous," she laughs merrily into the microphone.

She is quite the peculiar character. Her hair is dyed a bright yellow, like the sun. Her outfit is a bright yellow metallic-like dress dotted with sequins. Looking at her makes my eyes hurt.

"So first I bring you all a video from our wonderful Capitol."

The video is the same here in District 1 as it was in 3.

_War. Terrible war._

I can't pay attention and I make use of myself by straightening out the little wrinkles that have formed in my dress from the walk over here. I redo my sash into a perfect bow, although it is hard without Mother to help. I look around and see only a few eyes glued to the screen. Most are whispering to one another. I catch Arion not too far away. His arms are crossed over his chest and he stares up at the screen. If he is nervous to volunteer, he doesn't show it.

I can even catch Opal, who is standing a few rows ahead of me. She looks up at the screen and then down to her feet while shuffling back and forth. It doesn't take a high IQ to see she is in fact nervous. She has to volunteer though. It has to be the rule or something, because I know District 1 trains hard to receive the volunteer spot, and to give it up would be a huge dishonor.

"Wasn't that just wonderful?" I am brought back into reality again by little Miss Sunshine. "It just reminds us what we've all gathered here for." She flashes another brilliant smile, and adjusts her hair, or wig, I'm not sure which it is.

"Now it's time to pick this year's tributes, although I expect it will be redundant. I've heard we have some courageous young people volunteering this year! That's not much of a surprise though." She winks to the crowd and then claps her hands together in excitement. "Ladies first!"

I swallow the lump that's forming in my throat and watch Sunshine meander to the female bowl, clicking her heels against the wooden stage with every step. I feel my palms begin to sweat and I ignore the urge to wipe them on my nicest dress.

It's not going to be me. I try to remind myself of this fact and stay calm and under control. Mother is the smartest woman I know and she said I wouldn't be picked.

She snatches a slip from the top and trots back to the microphone. She slowly opens the paper and holds the slip up to the sunlight. Then she folds it back up and leans into the microphone.

"Abilee Wilkin!"

No, no, no! This can't be right. I feel my body breaking under this new weight that has been laid upon my shoulders. But…no I won't be going to the Capitol, Opal will volunteer for me, it'll be okay. It'll be okay, I repeat it over and over in order to keep my feet steady on the ground.

However, I wait for Opal's words "I volunteer" and instead I am met with silence. A few of her friends look over at her and she just stares at her feet, pretending she doesn't exist.

"This is a surprise," Sunshine comments. "Where's our volunteer?"

I watch Opal turn and try to walk through the crowd. She passes right by me and looks me right in the eye. She bites her lip nervously and quickly looks away.

"Abilee?" Sunshine calls again.

Tears are streaming down my face and I have no way of stopping them. I make my way up to the stage, feeling as though I am having an out-of-body experience. When I blink back into reality I'm standing on the stage and Sunshine has her arm around me. I wipe the stray tears from my face and try to put on a façade. It's no use though because I'm shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane, being ripped apart piece by piece.

"Now for our boys!" Sunshine goes through the same routine. She walks slowly to the bowl, plucks the slip from the top and walks back to the microphone.

If I just focus on something else I won't have a panic attack.

She's opening each side of the slip. She's holding it up to the light to read it. She's lowering it down. She's leaning into the microphone.

"Our male tribute is Alexan…" she doesn't even finish the boy's first name when Arion is shouting that he volunteers and prances up the stairs to the stage.

"Now that's more like it!" Sunshine comments and pats him on the back.

"Now shake hands both of you."

I hate shaking the hand of a stranger. It's a practice I do not participate in and I'm not going to do it now. Arion holds his hand out and I stand still as stone waiting for him to get the hint. It's an awkward few seconds and I pull an Opal and stare at my feet.

"Okay then," he shrugs, and the crowd lets out an "Ooooh…"

They think I'm being "tough" or something, but I'm anything but that. I am not trying to be impolite towards Arion because I'm sure he could rip me apart easily. I can't change the way I am to fit everyone's standards, and I won't now just because I was reaped and am on live television.

Oh no! I am on live television.

I feel like I'm about to throw up, but I am saved by Sunshine who whisks us away into the Justice Building where I am separated from Arion and left in a room by myself. I take my first easy breath and then once I've composed myself I cry. I let tears stream down my face, and make little sobbing noises that I know sound pathetic. The problem is that I am going to die. I have little chance to begin with, approximately 4.17%, but if you factor in the strength and training of some of the other tributes that drops even lower.

My mother and father appear in the doorway just as I start to come down from my breakdown. I want to rush to them and have them make everything better, but I know that isn't going to be the case this time. Mama comes to me and grasps me in her arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby," she whispers softly in my ear.

My father, as always, stands stoic, but as soon as my mother releases me he grabs me into his arms in a gesture that my father has never given to me before.

He pulls away and goes to stand next to my mother, who is trying to hold back her tears. My mother and father were never emotional people. It seems to be a trait that was prominent in District 3. Seeing my mother unable to control her emotions makes me feel extremely weak.

I wish I could communicate properly with my own parents and let them know how much they've meant to me, and how I love them so. My mother and father were there for me when everybody turned their back on the strange little girl who mumbled and hid up in trees. When I went against all standards for the other children my age, my parents forced them to accept me as I was. Little did everyone else know that I was going to be one of smartest children in Panem, but not without the repercussions that followed.

I can barely manage in the real world, now I will be shown off to the nation as a tribute, and not just any tribute, but a tribute from District 1. District 1 is known for its Careers and magnificent tributes, but I am just Abilee, who can take things apart and put them together with my eyes closed and has crazy hair.

I think of my Nana who is lying in the hospital soon to die. What did she always say to me?

_Accept who you are Abi, even if nobody else will._

I miss her more than anything, and wish she could be here right now. My Nana is the only person who can raise me back up when I am feeling so low. She would sit me in her rocking chair when I was only a few years old and read me fabulous stories from books she had collected over the years. It was my Nana who made me realize my true potential was on this planet.

"Time's up!" A Peacekeeper snaps.

It looks as though I'll never be able to see that potential through.

I run to my mother and father and hug them both. I cannot remember a time I have ever worked up courage to initiate human contact, but I cannot remember a time where I was going off to face my inevitable death.

"I love you," I breathe and my mother runs her hand through my hair.

"Time!" The Peacekeeper yells louder.

"We love you dear," my mother says, "and we have faith that you'll come back to us."

Honestly though I have no chance against the other tributes. I cannot survive in a "kill or be killed" competition. If I am to find meaning on this planet it will have to be in the next few weeks. My first step though is to survive being shown off to the millions of citizens who watch me in the tribute parade. No, scratch that, I'll need to survive the train ride to the Capitol with Arion without throwing up before that happens.

I hope they can provide me with some string and knitting needles first.

Click. Click. Click. I am in control. I can control my destiny.

* * *

_**Arion Everex**_

_**By: careerinfatuation**_

* * *

"You want another cup?"

My head snaps up at lightning speed. "Huh?"

Halley, the manager of the training center snack booth, flicks her eyes to the coffee pot in her hand. "You keep falling asleep. Want another cup?" Remembering why I'm awake in the first place, I groan, letting my head fall back onto the countertop.

Reaping practice.

It's customary for the District 1 volunteers to pull an all-nighter, stuffing in whatever training they can the morning before they step forth. It's what our first victor did, and his successor after that, and his successor after _that_…Halley has agreed to stay up to keep me energized. You'd think I'd be somewhat happy—based on the "great honor" and whatnot—but honestly? As this year's volunteer, all I feel is tired. The impending rush of victory you're supposed to have has been replaced by a sudden urge to curl up in a ball.

"Sure," I mumble sleepily. My hand flies up to wipe the drool from my mouth. "What time is it, anyway?"

The cup scoots across the granite with a scrape. "3:15," Halley says. I groan again, taking a sip. It tastes rich, like she's added chocolate or something. I down it and wait for the buzz to kick in. "Man, I hate this."

"Think I like it any better?" She gripes, wiping her face with the back of her hand. My gaze falls on the dark circles under her eyes.

"Sorry," I say, looking sheepishly down at my feet. "I'll only be up for a while longer. You can go to bed if you want." Thinking she'd jump at the offer, I'm confused when she shakes her head. "Nah. Probably couldn't sleep much."

When I give her a quizzical look, she hesitantly clears her throat. "My sister's got her name in this year."

_Oh_. Well, that explains it: Halley's 19, and her sister turned twelve not even a week ago. I guess once you're safe, your worry shifts to the next loved one in line. I wouldn't know, being an only child and all.

Cautiously, I lean over the counter, placing my hand on her shoulder the way my mother used to do to comfort me. "Hey, you've got nothing to worry about. Volunteers, remember?"

Volunteering is so important in our district that we've yet to allow a reaped tribute to compete. Someone always edges in to take their place, regardless of age or ability. In other districts, I've heard volunteering protocol is rusty, but here, it's crystal clear: we have volunteering down to a T. 6 months before the reaping, the training center pulls the 5 most exceptional male and female students from each year to participate in a training class. They study things like stamina, accuracy, and improvement, pool all the future tributes together, and rank them in numerical order. The top 10 advance to the second stage, which consists of a vote among the students, trainer recommendations, and a private session with the overall head of the training center, who then chooses the male and female tribute worthy enough to volunteer.

To step up and volunteer without being chosen is suicide: no one wants to sponsor some insolent, glory-stealing punk. To refuse after making it that far…well, you'd have to be crazy.

I squeeze her shoulder, which seems to relax her a bit. "Opal and I have got this." As if on cue, Opal Asteria, my girlfriend and soon-to-be district partner, sidles out from the shadows of a training room. The spear in her hand—she's the only girl my age skilled with them—glints in the unnatural light.

"Hey, baby," I smirk in greeting, leaning back against the counter as she walks up. Opal's a typical career girl: strong arms, strong legs, and strong willed. She's also naturally pretty, a trait that draws sponsors to her like moths to a flame. If the Hunger Games were a beauty contest, they'd need to crown us both. One way or another, District 1 will emerge victorious this year…as if there was any doubt about that.

"Dang," I say as she reaches for a towel. "Sweaty sure looks good on you."

She wrinkles her nose, wiping her forehead angrily. "Shut up, Arion." She tries to scowl at me, but to no avail: one smile from me cracks her mask.

After two cups of coffee, three energy bars, and a 5-minute power nap later, we head back to the gym for the remainder of the night. We budget the next few hours carefully: one for swords, one for spears, one for knives…and, despite my objections, one for talking.

"Why are you volunteering?" she asks, plopping down on the mat next to me. It's an innocent enough question, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, like dry swallowing a pill.

"I think we should work on hand-to-hand," I say, unsteadily attempting to change the subject. My past is something I'd rather not talk about, especially with Opal. Our relationship is more shallow than anything—she sees what she wants to, listens to what she's told about me, and that's the end of that.

Thinking about it now, she's really more of a district partner than a girlfriend. Usually, we just end up talking strategy, no matter how much effort we put into flirting. Throw a kiss in there every once in a while and there you have it—Arion and Opal, perfectly described.

However superficial, that's the gist of it: two pretty faces thrown together based off of no real depth, trust, or knowledge of each other. Two pretty faces influenced by the majority vote. Two pretty faces, watching each other's backs as they prepare for the nightmare.

Regardless of this, she gives me an aggravated look, nagging me like one of my friends would. "Arion."

I stand, cracking my knuckles as I turn away. "Really, my chokeholds have been off lately. Let's spar." Opal jumps from the mat, seizing my wrist with an iron grip. "Arion…"

_My parents were both victors, did you know that?_

Opal's eyes are wide, filled with a curious understanding. It's unsettling, to be honest. It makes me want to unhinge my jaw and just start babbling, a feeling foreign to me. As far as I know, Opal's not one to judge, but looking weak isn't on my to-do list. I play out the conversation in my head instead.

_Two of the favorites in the Capitol, President Snow asked them to return as mentors for the first Quarter Quell. Although the games were a success, the train derailed on the trip home, killing them both instantly._

Despite my best efforts, my words have risen to the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill over. I try vainly to swallow them back down, attempting to keep my face blank as she looks on impatiently.

_I'm here for them. They've trained me since I could walk, taught me everything I know, supported me through everything…I'm here for them._

Finally, I clear my throat. "Just bringin' honor to my district, that's all."

Opal's face falls a bit. "Hm," she says, looking expectantly at me. "I can tell there's more," she starts, "but that's alright. I'll figure you out eventually." She winks, and I take the cue to reach out and intertwine our fingers.

Someday, I'll tell her, when we're closer than where we are now. Too bad we don't have much longer…

"Sorry, Op," I say, squeezing her hand. "It's kinda complicated. Maybe in the arena?"

The effect is immediate: all the blood drains from her face, leaving her skin a thin, papery white. She tries quickly to reclaim herself, but not before I notice: _what_was_that?_

"You okay?" I ask, warily raising an eyebrow. She nods shakily, giving me a reassuring smile. It looks more like a grimace. "Just fine. C-can't wait." Before I can open my mouth, she starts stretching in an attempt to distract me. "So, were we gonna spar or what?"

* * *

"Are they asleep?"

I look up, wiping lazily at my face. "Huh?"

With fuzzy eyes, I take inventory of my surroundings: the majority of the students are training, Opal's asleep on a gymnastics mat next to me, and a group of 12 year olds stands at my feet, eagerly holding their weapons.

I slam my eyes shut, hoping if I lay still enough they'll go away. "Can we watch you train?" One asks, cutting through the silence. "I'm napping," I grumble, turning over on my side. "Leavemealone." The sound of their little footsteps tells me I've won.

I'd almost fallen asleep again when from somewhere above us, a speaker crackles to life.

"Good morning, future tributes!"

I open my eyes, stretching idly. Opal pushes herself to a sitting position next to me, both of us still lingering in a post-sleep haze.

"On behalf of District 1, The Panem Academy of Combat Education, and the PACE Tribute Training Center, we'd like to congratulate this year's volunteers, Arion Everex and Opal Asteria!"

A rapid rush of applause floods the gym, filling my veins with adrenaline. I stand, smile, and wave at everyone looking in my direction, wondering if this is how it feels to be a victor. I beat my chest, pump my fists, blow kisses—really, this is great! I turn to Opal and find she's returned to her bloodless, pale self.

"We would like to inform you that the current time is 7:30, which means the reaping begins in exactly two and a half hours. This morning, attendance at The Panem Academy of District 1 is mandatory. Please get ready accordingly and prepare to meet your peers in the square at the close of the school day. Good luck to our volunteers, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" The voice dies down, and every student in the gym drops whatever they're doing to run like madmen for the elevator.

I choose the stairs to avoid the line, taking them three at a time. I arrive on my floor and make my way down the hall, where I've lived for the past 8 years. It's strange to think I'll be leaving today.

After a quick hand scan, I enter my room, 421. The Tribute Training Center dorms are nothing special, but they're home. Each apartment has a living room, bedroom, half bath and a kitchenette, equipped with the same standard government-issue furniture. I've lived with the same roommates since arriving here, Logan Spinel and Zirconia Ryder, who we just call Arco. We're treated really well here, like it's a hotel instead of a house: meals are free, education is free, rent is free. The only downside is whatever mess we make, we clean ourselves—my roommates have left the chore to me today.

As I walk in, I take inventory: neither of them are here, all of the beds are torn apart, and an ocean of leftovers floods the countertop. _How considerate_. I snack quietly on an apple as I clean, enjoying the silence.

In the bathroom, I take a five-minute shower in boiling water. I'm short on time, so I decide to let my hair air dry. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and shoot myself a winning smile in the mirror, practicing the way I'll look as I take the stage. Arrogant? Nah. Confident? Definitely.

I pull on my school clothes, a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. I throw my bag over my shoulder and start for the elevator—Opal's floor is the one below mine, and I want to spend as much time as I can with her before the reaping.

She answers when I knock, stepping timidly out into the hallway. We link hands without any thought. "You look pretty," I say sweetly, but to no avail. My attempt to fill the silence is useless: she manages a smile, but doesn't say anything further. Guess she's just not talkative today.

When we get outside, the weather surprises me. The sky is barely a whisper of blue, the sun shining at just room temperature. It's warm, but cool at the same time, a different rush of sensations—perfect weather for the last day in my district.

No one says anything until we get about three blocks from school, when Opal finally opens her mouth.

"So," she breathes, kicking a rock with her toe. "Today's the day." I turn to look at her, trying to guess where's she's coming from. "Yeah, Op. Sure is."

A wave of shivers runs over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. As intimidating as she may be, right now, she looks anything _but._"You sure you're ready?" I ask, though I already know the answer: the skepticism in my voice is plain as the nose on my face.

Noticing me staring, Opal tries to compose herself. "Yeah," she says, sucking in a measured breath. "Yeah. I'm…I'm ready." She can say it all she wants, but I won't believe it. I've seen the crack in her mask.

"We'll be okay, you know." She looks worriedly up at me, probably wondering if I can read her mind. "You and me, we make a good team." She nods silently, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug. "I love you, Arion," she whispers, resting her head on my chest.

In answer, I kiss the top of her head, taking her hand and leading her up to the school. The mob starts as soon as we set foot onto the grounds.

"Arion! Opal! Over here!"

Swarms of people, from all classes and all ages, drop whatever it is they're doing to meet Opal and I at the door. A few brave girls reach out to feel my muscles, and several guys pat me on the back, shouting nonsense like "you've got this" and "I'm rooting for you." It's all a bit crazy, the effect we have on our classmates. Like volunteering makes you a celebrity. It's frivolous, outrageous, and unnecessary.

Just the way I like it.

I shoot the crowd a grin and am met with giggling in return. "Let's go in," I say, turning to look at Opal. I hold my hand out and she takes it, albeit reluctantly. Someone holds the door for us.

"How'd you get so strong?" "Can I hold your bag?" "What's your strategy, Arion?" "Would you take me on a date when you get back?" The mindless chatter accompanies me all the way to my first class, Panem History. Upon entering, I scan the room for girls out of habit—old routines are hard to break. None really catch my eye except for one: Abi Wilkin, the genius' daughter.

I stare somewhat critically at her, hoping neither her nor Opal's noticed. She could be pretty…you know, if she owned a hairbrush. She's blonde-haired, brown-eyed, and fair-skinned, all attributes of an attractive girl, but there's something about her that makes you steer clear. Something…off. She's in all of my classes, though, so I make an effort to keep on good terms with her.

"Hey Abi," I say as I walk up. The effect is instantaneous—she shrinks back in her seat, too nervous to talk. She totally wants me.

When I receive nothing in response, I shrug it off and take a seat. Yeah, she's a doll, but no sweat off my back. Opal seats herself next to me as the lecture starts.

I find myself passing notes with the flirtier of my admirers all period instead of listening: if I'm going to be volunteering for the Hunger Games, might as well spend my last day doing what I do best.

* * *

After the bell, I walk Opal home before going to get ready myself. I don't need to prep the way she does, so I spar with a trainer until the clock reads 15 minutes to 10. Even then, I don't have much to do—just change my clothes, wash my face, and run my fingers through my hair. Dressed in a black suit with a gleaming silver tie, I decide I'm about as ready as I'll ever be and head down to Opal's room.

When she answers the door, I'm actually speechless. Having never seen her outside of her training clothes, I can't help but stare; she's got on some strapless dress, the top half studded with gemstones and the bottom like a layer of cotton candy.

"Wow." I say, and she shoves my shoulder playfully. "Wow yourself," she grins approvingly, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway and out the front door.

We start the 10 minute walk down to the square, thanking everyone who congratulates us along the way. As soon as we arrive, Opal breaks away and clears her throat. "Hey, I'm gonna go…say goodbye to my parents. I'll meet you onstage, okay?" Before I have time to object, she kisses my cheek and runs off towards the sidelines.

Not wanting to stand there alone, I say hi to a couple people before making my way to the check-in station. A group of Peacekeepers waits at the head of a long line of teenagers, wearing rigid expressions as the line slowly trudges along. When I arrive at the front, the woman seated at the table looks more than happy to see me. Typical.

"Hello, handsome! Can I get your name?"

I straighten up, tilting my head cockily. "Arion Everex."

She reaches out to grab my hand, her touch cold, scaly and alien. "This'll only hurt a little," she says in a mild voice. I've heard it every year—it must be protocol—but to be honest, it hurts a lot. I watch as the needle pricks the tip of my finger, dying the tip crimson. Her hands flip nimbly through a book of names until she finds mine halfway down the page. Shifting her grip, she moves the blood under a scanner until it beeps with the knowledge that I am indeed Arion Everex.

She releases her hold on me and gives what's meant to be a flirtatious smile. "Congratulations! Good luck!" I nod to her and make my way over to the section of seventeens, where my roommates, friends, and admirers alike will be waiting for me. I suck idly on my finger until it stops bleeding.

I stare around the square, taking it all in for the last time. There's a giant group of girls just to my left—my name pops up at least three times in five minutes. Children run around my feet, my friends hoot and shout next to me, the parents of my classmates eye their sons and daughters from the sidelines. My attention goes subconsciously to the stage. If my parents were here, they'd be up there now in the folding chairs reserved for mentors.

As this year's mentor—some guy named Marcus I can't place—takes his seat, I wonder if my parents would be proud of me. Sometimes, the Capitol reaps the children of victors just to stir things up, but one's never volunteered. This is unchartered territory, a thought that _almost_makes me nervous.

The district escort, one I've seen a couple times before, starts the trot up to the stage. As far as Capitol citizens go, she's one of the weirder ones: her blinding smile is rivaled only by the blinding yellow of her hair. "Hello, District 1! As you know, my name is Sunshine Pana, and I am District 1's escort! I am so happy to be here again, and I know my fellow escorts are just as jealous." Her laugh echoes through the microphone, reaching such a high pitch that I actually have to cover my ears.

"So first, before we get the ball rolling, I've brought you all a video from our wonderful Capitol."

I've seen it so many times, I can quote it in my sleep. _War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child_…I cross my arms and stare at the screen while my mind wanders elsewhere.

This year is the 34th annual Hunger Games. Twenty-four children are reaped each year, which means in total, 782 kids have died since the rebellion. The number rolls around in my head, sending a series of shivers up my spines. 782…782 finished futures, 782 broken dreams, 782 priceless losses. _I won't be one of them,_I think, looking up at the skulls on the monitor. _I won't be one of them._

"Wasn't that just wonderful?" The shrill suddenness of Sunshine's voice makes me jump, bringing me back to reality. She clears her throat and continues, staring out at the masses with an eerie excitement. "It just reminds us what we've all gathered here for." Her hands fly up to touch her hair, fixing it for the cameras. I've never understood why Capitol people care so much for appearance.

"Now it's time to pick this year's tributes, although I expect it will be redundant—I've heard we have some courageous young people volunteering this year!" She starts clapping and is joined by a few lone members of the crowd. I swear, in that second, all eyes in the square turn to me.

"Ladies first!" She announces, bouncing perkily to the female reaping ball. Her hand dives in, as elegant as a swan, and before I know it she's pulled a slip and is smoothing it out.

My gaze falls eagerly on Opal, who's standing near the front. Expecting to see her on her toes, ready to run, I'm surprised to see her clenching her fists and closing her eyes. She doesn't look up—not when the escort's shoes click towards the microphone, not when she clears her throat, not when she reads out "Abilee Wilkin."

The silence is deafening. Her friends nudge her, giving her quizzical looks. A woman who can only be Abilee's mother lets out a strangled cry from somewhere behind me. Still, Opal doesn't move.

_Betrayal._ That's the first thing I feel, layered overtop a deep, blistering core of anger. I want to step out of line—want to call her name or provoke her or push her up the steps myself—but Opal has frozen into place.

Sunshine squints her eyes, shifting her gaze from the paper to the audience and back again. "This is a surprise," she says, her voice dripping with unease. "Where's our volunteer?" I grit my teeth, trying to keep calm. I'm not sure myself.

I crane my head, trying to get a good look at her. Opal turns around, head down, before forcing her way out of her section into the aisle. I watch as she looks Abilee right in the eye before training her gaze on me. The girl I love, a girl once driven by victory, is gone, replaced by a fearful child. She blinks back tears, mouthing "I'm sorry" before turning on her heel and leaving the square.

I can feel the heat that comes with an outburst prickling through my veins. We'd talked about this a million times. I'd asked her, month after month, day after day, if she was sure. We'd strategized, planned out our exact moves, mapped out a foolproof plan to glory. My head spins as I try to form a clear thought. _I don't understand…_

"Abilee?" Sunshine's voice is more urgent, now that it's clear there will be no volunteers.

I see her a couple rows ahead of me. She looks nothing like the District 1 girls, dressed in cotton instead of diamonds, with no jewelry other than a strange hunk of metal on her wrist. The people in the Capitol are probably already weighing her chances, and to be honest, they don't seem too high. After she sees her stylist, I'm sure she'll get a sponsor or two, but even _that's_ asking a lot—whereas most District 1 girls are glad to be reaped, Abilee's crying like there's no tomorrow.

As she walks up, I can't help but resent her a little. If there's some wire, or something else tech-oriented, we might stand a chance…but she's no Opal.

When Abilee finally gets up to the stage, she wipes her eyes and sniffles as Sunshine makes her way to the male reaping ball. "Now for our boys!" I turn my feet towards the stage, clenching my fists in anticipation. She wastes no time in choosing a name, flittering back to the microphone like a butterfly.

"Our male tribute is Alexan…"

_Now or never. Don't crack._

"I volunteer!" I shout, my voice filled with a strong, sure steadiness. I let out the breath I'd been holding—it was over. There was no going back. I break into a slow jog for the stage, pound up the steps, and meet my district partner at the microphone. _No going back_.

Sunshine's face breaks into a grin as she pats me on the back. Her fingers feel like claws against my skin.

"Now _that's_ more like it!" Getting right on with the show, Sunshine puts her free hand on Abilee's shoulder, pushing us together in earnest. "Shake hands, both of you."

I hold mine out without question, but for some reason, Abi refuses. The clock in the center ticks awkwardly while we stand, as still as statues. As Abi looks down, unmoving, I can't help but wonder what she has against me. First this morning, and now this… "Okay then," I say dismissively, dropping my hand as the crowd lets out a collective "ooh."

Sunshine rambles on for a bit more, talking about honor and wishing us luck, and before I know it I'm inside the Justice Building. A peacekeeper leads me up a dark staircase, throws me inside a room, and slams the door unceremoniously behind him. I spin around, examining my surroundings until my first visitor gets here.

The room is glorious, with gold vaulted ceilings and mahogany panels. A long polished table littered with bread, fruit, and cheese and several small, red velvet chairs are the only furnishings, aside from the roaring fireplace. Cozy enough for goodbyes, welcoming enough to make you forget why you're saying goodbye in the first place…the Capitol decorators sure know how to set a mood.

Behind me, the door crashes open.

"Congrats, dude!" My roommates rush up and greet me with hugs, which is unusual for them. Reaping day brings out different sides of everyone, I guess—Opal just proved that. "Thanks, guys." We laugh and joke and jostle around on the floor for a few minutes until a Peacekeeper summons them to go. Next come my personal trainers, Athena and Pandora, who each kiss me on the cheek before leaving. My heart pangs knowing this might be the last time I see them, but I try my best to brush it off.

I seat myself comfortably on one of the velvet chairs, relaxing while I wait. There's a subtle knock at the door.

"Come in," I call out as if I own the room. A thirteen year old I've never seen before walks in, his dress shoes making funny noises as they shuffle against the rug. "Hi?" I start off, and he takes the cue to introduce himself.

"I'm Alexander." I raise an eyebrow, waiting for recognition to strike. Do I_know_ an Alexander?

"You volunteered for me," he says, tripping over his words. _Ah_. "I…I just wanted to say t-thank you." I smile, trying to seem amiable. "No problem, kid." When he leaves, I collapse on the couch, throwing my head into my hands. Who knew this would be so emotionally draining?

Suddenly, there's a change in the temperature, and before I know it, I can hear them: their voices cut through the silence like a knife, curling like smoke through the room until they find my ears. "Where's our little victor?"

My head snaps up to face none other than my parents. They look just as I remember them—soft brown hair, protective smiles, eyes glowing with pride. "Hi mom," I say weakly, trying to smile up at them. "Hi dad."

They seat themselves on the loveseat across from me, her hand curled delicately in his. I didn't think they'd come… "You're going to do great, sweetheart," my mom coos, and my dad nods his affirmation. "Give 'em hell, Arion."

My heart swells inside my chest, filing me with a wholeness I thought I'd lost. "I will," I say as I study them, trying to seal in the details of this moment. We sit in silence, ignoring the veil between us. "I love you guys," I get out, and they leave their spot on the couch to join me in a hug.

"Who are you talking to?"

I jump, turning to the door. A Peacekeeper gives me a strange look from the foyer, brow furrowed in confusion. I shoot a glance at my parents only to find they're no longer there.

Quickly, I swallow the lump in my throat—maybe they're better as a memory, after all. They'd never have to experience the loss of a child, like the hundreds who'd sat here before me.

"N-no one," I stammer. "Is it time to go?" I sit up only to have him shake his head. "No, you've got one more visitor. Just letting you know." I grit my teeth and nod: I know exactly who it is. To my dismay, he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with the one person I don't want to see.

"Arion?" Her tone is soft, one you'd use with a child or a wounded animal. I position my back to the door, staring into the coals instead of acknowledging her. _You betrayed me_, I think. _You betrayed me_.

"Why'd you even bother coming?" I spit, the words flying like acid from my mouth and onto the carpet. She lets out a distraught sniffle, and finally, I relent, giving her a look. Her eyes are rimmed red with tears, her makeup falling in streaky lines down her cheekbones.

She drags her sleeve across her nose with a sob. "B-because I lov—" I chuckle harshly in interruption. "You what? You love me?" I shake my head as she nods. "No, Opal. You just proved you don't."

She staggers back like she's been shot, her mouth hanging open in an 'o'. "H-how can you even say that?" She dabs at her eyes with a tissue, her voice quivering with unease. "Arion, w-what's this about?"

_You betrayed me._

"It's about trust!" I shout, knocking the chair I'm sitting on over. She jumps and takes a few steps back, skittering towards the door like a crab. "It's about how you're a liar! You messed up my chances, you know that, right? Going in with you, I actually had a shot! If I don't come home it's your fault! It's on you, Opal!"

She's bawling now, her face resting in the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise. I know I'm overreacting, but it's hard not to.

"Why'd you lie to me?" I demand, trying to make sense of the day's events. "Why?"

Opal coughs a little, trying to calm down enough to talk. "You knew I wanted to b-be the volunteer. You knew, but you went for it anyways! You could have given up your spot, but apparently n-nothing gets in the way of victory for you."

She stands still, waiting for me to comment, but I have nothing to say. It's true that I could have backed out, but she couldn't ask that of me…could she? I've trained my whole life for this…when I don't respond, she coughs again and continues.

"What if it came down to us t-two? What if you had to kill me?" She trembles, trying uselessly to staunch the flow of tears. "How could you ever handle that?"

I put my head in my hands, not daring to speak. The truth is, I couldn't, but I'm too mad to say it.

"I…I just thought…" I shake my head, pressing my palms against my browbone. "I thought we were going to do this together."

Opal looks up, interpreting my words as a moment of weakness. She moves closer, not stopping until she's directly in front of me. Her fingers reach up to wipe my face, touching it with a foreign element of mildness: funny, I didn't realize I was crying.

"I'm sorry."

_You betrayed me._

"Arion, please, I'm sorry…"

I clear my throat, cutting her off. "You know what? I never needed you." Her eyes widen to the size of saucers, filling up with tears again . "You don't mean it…" She whimpers as she shakes her head. "You don't…"

_You betrayed me._

I clench my jaw, nodding tensely. I know I'll regret it, but I can't stop myself from saying what I do next. "I can do this without you, just you watch. Don't expect a cut of my winnings."

The look on her face tells me there's no use taking it back. I've broken something beyond repair—no matter how many times I try to apologize, it will be in vain. No amount of words, no amount of tears could make this up to her. No use in begging, no use in pleading…no use.

Opal stumbles towards the door, curling her hand gently around the handle. _No use._

"Maybe it's best if I go," she says softly. "Yeah," I agree, my voice flat. "Maybe it's best if I go, too."


	2. District 2 Reaping

**A/N: **Hey everyone!

Thanks so much for the reviews and favorites/follows! They mean a lot to all of us.

I know it's late, but here's the next chapter, District 2! Enjoy :)

- Head Gamemaker Xavier

* * *

**Aphrodite Maddox **

_**By: sMoShFiRe**_

* * *

_Ring ring! Ring ring!_

"Shut up!" I scream over my alarm clock, smacking it with my bare hand forcefully.

"Aphy? What is going on?" My mum yells in horror, running to my bedroom door.

"I'll tell you what's going on. This alarm clock doesn't know how to shut up." I growl, glaring at the clock as if it was a living thing. If it was a living thing though, it would probably run for its life.

"Well honey, I'm sure it won't annoy you anymore since it's broken." My mum grabs the now broken alarm clock, and stares at it for a while before nodding her head. "Yup. Definitely broken." Then something clicks in my head. I never set the alarm clock! Why would I do it today? Why would I-

It's reaping day. Hell yeah.

"Whoo! Reaping day! This is what I have been waiting for!" I jump for joy, doing a little dance. I turn to face my mother, who is frowning. As soon as she notices me looking, her frown immediately turns into a smile.

"Yes Aphrodite. Fantastic." I can tell she is acting. Besides the fact that it is a little too obvious to miss, she never says my full first name unless something is wrong.

"Mum, where's Ruby? I want to say bye to her because I won't see her until the reaping. I'm going out with my friends real quick."

"Oh, she's downstairs. I love you sweetie. Don't die." Her voice cracks at the last sentence, and I give her a tight embrace.

"Mum, I'm a Career. I can do this. I _will_ do this. I love you." I let go of her and give a quick smile before heading downstairs.

"Ruby!" I yell, halfway down the stairs.

"Aphy! Saviour!" She cutely smiles and hugs me as I get to the bottom of the stairs. Ruby has started calling her saviour ever since I saved her from our horrible stepdad. He was a pedophile. I heard my sister screaming, pleading, crying for help and raced to her room one night when mumwas working. I opened the door quickly and caught our stepdad on top of her. He just laughed seeing me, considering I was girl I couldn't do anything. Didn't he know I was a career? I pounded his face in. He went to hospital with major injuries, and my mother filed for divorce soon after. Rumour has it that he moved to the Capitol straight after getting released from hospital. Justice you ask? None. When I become victor, he will be tortured to death.

But to be honest, I hate Ruby calling me saviour. It reminds me of that night and what I saw. The poor girl makes it so hard for me to forget.

"Hey Ruby! I just wanted to say bye because the next time I see you will be at the reaping today. I'm going out with my friends real quick."

"Okay! You're going to win, aren't you Aphy?"

"Of course Ruby, my little sweetie pie." I'm only very sweet to her. It's just Ruby that makes me turn all sweet. My mother too.

"Alright, bye! Love you!" I give her a peck on the cheek and big hug. I soon leave the house quietly, heading to the enormous park with a swimming pool. I know my friends will be there.

* * *

"Hey guys!" I yell out to my friends, who are busy chatting amongst themselves.

"Hey Aphy!"

"Hey, can't I get a little cheer? I _am_ the District 2 female tribute of the 34th Hunger Games!" I say confidently, earning a few laughs.

"Aren't you cocky today?" one of my friends, Sadie, remarks, still laughing.

"Aphrodite Maddox, what are we going to do without you?" another one of mates, Jake smirks. He runs a hand through his blonde hair, and winks at me. I have to admit, he is very handsome. Aren't all my friends? I'm just kidding around.

"I don't know. What are you going to do without me?" I play along, giggling a bit.

After that, my friends and I just talk about random things.

"What weapons are you going to use?"

"About anything I can get my hands on really." I reply, watching some peacekeepers drag a guy out of the swimming pool.

"What are they doing to him?" I ask my group of friends, pointing to the man who looks terrified and is getting dragged out the pool.

"Wasn't he the man on the news? The one they needed to catch because he stole something from the peacekeepers?" Sadie saids, giving him a very good look.

"Oh, that guy. But they said he was a billionaire!" My friend Percy shouts, shocked.

"Aren't most of the guys in District 2?" Jake laughs, hitting Percy on the head for being so stupid.

"True. Why would he hide in the most famous park in District 2? Idiot." I laugh, and so do most of my friends. Who does that?

"My dad wants me to be a peacekeeper." Percy sighs, frowning.

"My mum never wanted me to become a tribute in the Games, but here I am now. I don't understand why though." I think I might. I know she doesn't want me to become a tribute because she loves me, but me winning the games benefits my whole family. Also, our stepdad will be tortured to death. Excellent.

I'm not the one to kill someone slowly, just quickly, but for my sick stepdad I will make an exception.

"You know that it's very tough on your little sister too." My blonde friend Charlie reminds me.

"Of course I do! I'm going to miss little Ruby, little innocent Ruby. But one of the reasons I'm doing this is to get back at the man who almost killed her pure innocence…" I mutter the last sentence, but unfortunately some of my friends hear me.

"What?" My friend Rebecca asks, confused.

"Nothing, you must've heard a mockingjay."

Rebecca nods her head slowly, before saying, "I know that mockingjays can sing tunes, but I never knew they could talk. Do you mean a jabberjay?"

"Um, sure." I curse under my breath. Sure? That's my response?

After a long, awkward silence, Percy speaks up.

"So what angle are you going for?"

"You know me, and the boys. They all want me. So, I'm going for flirty. Sexy, but dangerous. A confident winner."

Jake snorts, and pats me on the back.

"Right, all the boys want you. Isn't it the other way around?"

"Haha, you wish. You're just jealous because all the girls aren't running for you. Neither are the boys." I laugh as he lets out an awkward cough.

"I'm…straight."

"Sure you are babe." I give him a peck on the cheek, and he immediately wipes the spot I kissed, even though it was dry and clean.

"Definitely gay."

Everyone laughs, and he blushes. He sees a girl walking pass, a pretty one too, and flexes his biceps. He even winks at her, but she just scoffs and runs away.

I clap my hands, and everyone joins along.

"Look at that, Jake Maynard everyone!" I yell, and everyone in the park looks at me like I'm crazy.

Well I'm going to be on TV. Take that.

"Shut up Aphy. I don't even know why they call you Aphrodite."

"People call me Aphrodite because it's my name, idiot. But if it wasn't, they probably would still call me that." I giggle, and flip my brown hair, totally showing off.

"You're so…happy, for someone who is about to go into the Hunger Games."

"It was my choice. If I win, everything will be perfect. If I lose, well, too bad so sad, it was all worth it." I lie.

If I die, none of this is going to be worth it.

"You know we will miss you, Aphy. Even though you are a cocky airhead most of the time." Jake says, hugging me tightly. I hug him back. I also give him another peck on the cheek, and this time he doesn't wipe it off. He looks at me with lust in his eyes, and then starts to stare at my lips.

I know what he wants, but for all I know I'm probably going to start dating someone in the Games. Even though it is a game where only one survives, some tributes still date or fall in love.

Besides, I only like Jake as a simple friend. So I give him a small kiss on the lips, and though all our friends are shocked, I say aloud-

"It was a friendly gesture. Relax." Everyone sighs from relief. They obviously think we'd be a horrible couple. Except for Jake. Who looks…heartbroken? Or angry? Or just overall pissed and confused?

"What's up with that look on your face Jake?"

"You just kissed me. _On the lips_. You call that a friendly gesture? I was only looking at your lips because you have some chocolate on the top." He looks like he's about to lick my top lip, but my friend Sadie interferes.

"Whoa! Wait…oh, you do. But still Jake, you shouldn't lick it off!"

Jake smirks, and replies-

"Just a friendly gesture."

Everyone laughs again, and we start talking about other random things. We talk about my tactics and what I should do in training.

I may seem like a stupid brunette, but I'm competition. Trust me. I can use about any weapon, and probably will get a training score of 10 at least. I beat all the other girls in training. I'm especially good with knives and swords. Like I said before, I'm the sort of Career who gives quick deaths, so knives and swords are good for me.

After a while, it's time to go to the town square, where we have the reapings every year.

"Are you excited?" My friend Charlie whispers to me while we're walking.

"Of course I am!" I snort. What a foolish question. This is an amazing honour. This is what I was born for.

And maybe, just maybe, this is was I was born to die for.

* * *

"Welcome! Welcome to the reaping of the 34th annual Hunger Games!" The escort Brad Pyrros says in his Capitol accent, making a few people around me chuckle as if they hadn't heard it before.

"First, we'll have a few victors come up and make a speech!"

Ugh, I hate this. It's the same thing every time. Great honour winning the hunger games, blah blah blah.

After it's over, Brad stands between the giant fish bowls deciding if he should pick boys or girls first.

"Hm, I think its ladies first!"

Yes. My time to shine.

Brad reaches into the bowl, and picks out a name. I think I should volunteer already, but decide against it and wait for the name to be called out.

"Artemisia Leven."

"No! No!" I hear a boy scream out. Must be his girlfriend or something. Sad he can't do anything about it. But I can.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell, making everyone stare at me. Well, this is District 2. I don't see how that is such a shocker.

I walk up the stage, blowing kisses to the crowd and putting on a cocky smirk. Some boys smirk at me, and wink too. A shame I never got to know them. Some are actually cute.

"What's your name sweetheart?"

"Aphrodite Maddox." I say confidently, smirking to the crowd.

Brad then goes to the fish bowl filled with the boys' names and picks one out quickly.

"Finton Andrews."

A handsome guy with messy blonde hair, who is also tall and brawny, steps out of the seventeen-year-old section and walks up to the stage.

Wait. Where are the male volunteers? There were heaps of Careers who wanted to volunteer! Besides, Finton looks a bit scared. But because of his big image, maybe people had mistaken him as a Career with a lot of luck.

"Our tributes for the 34th annual Hunger Games!" Brad yells, and the crowd cheers. "You may shake hands."

Finton and I shake hands, and he smiles warmly, also saying hello.

Now that I hear his voice, I realize that he was the one who was yelling "No! No!" When that other girl was reaped. He must be acting really nice because he's grateful.

"Was that your girlfriend?" I ask him, whispering so no one else can hear.

He must know who I'm talking about, because he frowns and then mutters, "Maybe."

Well, he's a little shy.

Once everyone leaves, Finton and I get separated into two different rooms. It's time to say goodbye.

"Aphy! Saviour!" Ruby runs into the room, crying, tears running down her cheeks.

"Don't cry Ruby. You'll make me cry." I give her a tight embrace, which lasts for at least 5 minutes.

"Mum." I mumble as I look up from Ruby to my mother. "I love you." I proclaim, smiling, pretending that I'm not about to cry.

"I love you so much more." We hug, and a tear slides down my cheek. Just one tear. Just one. I'm strong. I know I am. I need to be.

"Mum, don't marry someone when I'm gone!" I laugh, and she joins along.

"I love how you make jokes at the worst of times. Do that in the Hunger Games honey. It will do you good."

"Of course."

The next people to come are my friends. I tell them I love each and every one of them, giving them all a hug. They tell me I'll win, and know it for a fact. They're very supportive.

"Time's up!" Two peacekeepers come in to take away my friends, and I then realize; this is it.

This is my time to shine. To shine in the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Finton Andrews **

_**By:**__**BunburyHope**_

* * *

"Finn! Finton, wake up!" shouts Elora, my sister, as she runs into my room and jumps on the end of my bed.

I groan and try to pull the covers further up over my head. The sun's only just risen and I'm pretty sure that today _isn't _a school day.

"Come on, Finton Andrews," sighs my mum, also walking in.

I sit up and look around, trying to work out why everyone's in my room.

Oh yeah, it's the Reaping today. Which would explain why Elora is in such a good mood. She's not going into the arena because people will volunteer in her place and she's training to be a Career anyway.

I haven't been training so I'll have no chance if I'm reaped but I hope someone would want to take my place anyway.

"Fine, I'm going to get up now," I lie to get them out of my room.

"Good," says mum, dragging Elora out.

I slump back down and try to fall asleep again, hoping that this is going to be some kind of bad dream. When I was younger, it would work…

"Finn! Get up!"

…Now it obviously doesn't.

I groan again and climb out of bed, walking over to my wardrobe to grab the smart clothes that have been specially bought for me for the Reaping: a plain white, ironed shirt and a pair of black trousers. Before I put them on, I take a quick shower so I can at least look decent even if I won't be going to the arena.

Once I've dressed in my Reaping clothes, I run down the stairs and into the kitchen. Elora's sitting on the side with a piece of toast in her hands. My mum's standing next to her in an elegant looking outfit for her return to the Capitol after the Reaping.

I grab a piece of fruit, leaving the room again as I shout over my shoulder, "I'll see you after the Reaping before you go."

"Where are you going?" mum asks.

I think for a moment before answering. "I'm going for a walk."

She is no doubt disbelieving of my excuse but she doesn't argue as she lets me leave the house, for a few last hours of freedom before the Reaping.

I'm no doubt the worst possible guy that District 2 could probably have. I am weak, useless and I never went once to the compulsory training sessions. The only good thing that came from that was the beatings that did make me _slightly_stronger. And I am _slightly_stronger after looking after Elora for such a long time. But, other than those facts, I am sure that District 2 would cringe to have me as a tribute.

I laugh to myself as I follow the path that I would know with my eyes closed to Artemisia's house. As I reach it, I take a deep breath to steady myself after not having seen her in such a long time.

But before I have the chance to knock, it is already swung open so I am face-to-face with Artemisia's dad.

"What?" he growls, the imposing look on his face reinforced by the important outfit like my mum's that he wears.

"I was wondering if I could see Artemisia before the Reaping this afternoon," I answer in the most confident voice that I can muster in this situation.

"She's out," he tells me. "She's with her _better_friends." And then he slams the door in my face.

I step back.

_Better_friends? Since when has she needed _better_friends? We'd always been best friends. Almost family but best friends still.

Maybe her parents did this. But her parents always liked me, never thought anything was wrong. Unless the last day we saw each other destroyed all those feelings.

Those thoughts spin around my head as my feet lead me away from her house, my head unaware of what is happening.

For some reason, I stop when I reach the edge of a park. I turn to look at the people inside when I hear voices and laughter coming from them. My breath catches though when I see who one girl is.

I stare as Artemisia, my best friend, sits in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a few other people. Her hair has been unnaturally curled and her beautiful face has makeup on it. She is pretending to smile and laugh at everything that a boy says but I know that she's faking it all.

As I walk forward slightly to stand behind a tree with the hope of hearing some of their conversation, I notice her sigh and look up for a second. I know she sees me because the expression on her face momentarily changes to one of longing.

I raise my eyebrows as if to say, "What's happening?" when she keeps eye contact with me.

She pulls a face as she turns away, putting her hand on the boy's beside her and leaning against him. The boy responds by wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.

I understand now. Her parents don't actually like me. Because of our last night together, they've arranged for her to go out with someone else. Fine, if that's how she wants it, she can have it that way. She obviously hasn't tried to stop it because she's still there after four months.

I walk away with my hands clenched into fists in my pockets. I take long detours around town to the square for the Reaping as I let all my memories get mixed up with what I've just seen.

Before I know what's happened, I am standing beside all the other seventeen-year-old boys, waiting for the reaping to take place.

"Welcome! Welcome to the reaping of the 34th annual Hunger Games!" Brad Pyrros, the escort for this District, says in his distinct Capitol accent. He smiles at the few laughs from the crowd, assuming it's a good thing and not about his accent. Then he adds, "First we'll have a few victors come up and make a speech."

I zone out as the same speeches that are said every year are repeated, saying about how winning is such an honour and that District 2 is likely to have another winner this year. Sure, we probably are with the number of strong volunteers waiting but they don't have to tell us.

When the speeches have finally finished, Brad stands between the giant fish bowls, debating for some time if he should pick boys or girls first. "Hm, I think it's ladies first!" he decides eventually.

Brad reaches into the bowl, and picks out a name, walking back over to the microphone with the slip grasped tightly in his hand. He slowly unfolds it for added drama then calls, "Artemisia Leven."

"No! No!" I hear myself shouting out. I quickly clap a hand over my mouth but it's too late, everyone's already heard. And I don't even know why I was objecting, it's not as if we're really friends anymore.

"I volunteer as tribute!" a girl yells.

My head snaps around and I thank whatever change of fate spared my old best friend from the horror of the Arena because a girl chose this year to volunteer.

The girl with perfect brown hair and blue eyes walks up to the stage, blowing kisses to the crowd and putting on a cocky smirk, using her beauty to already win her sponsors.

"What's your name sweetheart?" asks Brad.

"Aphrodite Maddox," she answers confidently, smirking again to the crowd.

Brad nods then goes to the fish bowl filled with the boy's names and picks one out quickly.

"Finton Andrews," he calls at the microphone.

My eyes go wide and look up from the ground, where I'd been looking ever since Artemisia was saved.

My name's been chosen and I'll disgrace the District if no one steps forward.

I wait for a few seconds for a volunteer that I know wants to take my place but none come.

Ha! I bet this is a plan to get revenge for me not going to training. Well, if it is, maybe I should show them that you can win without training.

I walk out of my section and onto the stage, acknowledging none of the cheers or claps from the crowd.

"Our tributes for the 34th annual Hunger Games!" Brad announces, making the crowd cheer. "You may shake hands," he adds to us.

I shake hands with Aphrodite and smile, saying quietly, "Hey."

She looks at me more closely when she hears my voice. "Was that your girlfriend?" she asks me in a whisper no one else hears.

I frown then mutter, "Maybe." Then I pull another face and go to correct myself.

Artemisia _isn't _my girlfriend and she never will be now. We shared one kiss but now she's been paired to another boy. And, anyway, I highly doubt that I'll be coming home to be with her.

But before I get a chance to change what I said, we're both marched into the Justice Building behind us and into separate rooms so we can say our goodbyes.

* * *

"You're going to be a disgrace to the district," sings Elora as she walks into the room, grinning up at me. "You're going to be the first District 2 tribute to die at the Bloodbath."

She looks positively ecstatic about this until I wipe the smile off her face when I point out, "If I die at the Bloodbath, it won't affect me. It'll be the family that's alive that will be known for being related to the disgrace."

She stops dancing around the room. "Okay," she sighs, "try not to die then."

"Sure," I agree. I bend down and hug her quickly. "I was planning on trying not to die anyway, just to prove that you don't need training."

"I don't think that it'll be the best idea to do that for that reason," mum argues from behind me.

I turn around to see my parents in the doorway, both smiling for some reason.

"But it is good that you want to win," dad says.

"Yeah," I mumble, unsure of what else I can say.

Mum looks down at the watch on her wrist and sighs. "Sorry, darling, but we really must go now. Our train will be going soon."

I nod.

"I would have asked you if you could look after Elora but you obviously can't now so do you know if Artemisia would be able to?" she asks.

I shrug my shoulders.

"Well, if she does happen to come here, please ask her," she instructs.

"She's not coming," I disagree.

Mum raises her eyebrows. "If you say so."

She walks to me, kisses me on each cheek then steps back to let my dad shake my hand.

All three members of my family wave then leave.

I sigh and turn away, looking out of the window as they begin to clear the square of the things especially for the reaping.

"Finn?" whispers a voice from the door.

I know exactly who it is but I chose to ignore them, still staring out of the window, crossing my arms over my chest.

I feel two arms wrap around me as my name is repeated in my ear. I shiver as her warm breath runs down my cheek as she kisses my neck.

"Go away," I mutter, trying to push her away.

She only holds on tighter as she complains, "I'm your best friend, Finn. You're going away today, maybe never to return, please just talk to me."

I spin around and see a look of pain in her beautiful eyes as she looks up to my face. I sigh, "You shouldn't be here. Your parents don't like me anymore. You should be with your _lover_."

"My parents don't have to know I'm here," she points out, smiling. "They can think I'm somewhere else." She pauses. "But please don't think I prefer him to you."

"It looked that way this morning," I spit.

"I have to act that way, Finn, it's my only choice," she groans. "Believe me, I'd much rather be in your arms."

I allow a small smile and take her wish, wrapping my arms around her back.

She grins and stands on tiptoe so our faces are level. "See? This is so much better."

I laugh. "It's a shame that it'll never be like this."

"Who says that?" she questions.

I don't have time to answer before she has pressed her lips to mine and locked her arms around my neck. I smile into the kiss as I wish that we could always be like this.

"Time's up!" shouts a peacekeeper outside the door.

We break apart and sigh.

"I'll see you after the Games," Artemisia decides, kissing my cheek quickly as she begins to walk away.

"Yeah," I agree. "Oh yeah, can you look after Elora?"

She laughs. "Of course I can."

Then she leaves the room so I am left alone.

Now I realise that I need to win the Games, to come out alive. I've got so much waiting for me at home and I could prove so much.

I will win.


	3. District 3 Reaping

**A/N: **Here's Friday's update! Thanks again for all the reviews and such, keep 'em coming! I hope you enjoy District 3's reaping, and stay tuned for the Games!

* * *

_**Bellatrix Craine**_

_** By: PrettyBandgirl XD**_

* * *

_I'm running. I'm running through trees on uneven land, tripping over roots and rocks. My chest heaves in pants. The scenery changes. I'm running through a desert, hot and humid, making my hair curl in its ponytail. My khaki pants and shirt stick to my skin irritatingly. Suddenly, I'm slipping on ice. Snow drifts all around me turning my nose and cheeks a feverish pink. Mist puffs out in front of me as I exhale. I fall and land on the ice, now cracked. I feel the blood in my veins freezing. Dark shadows are moving toward me, fast and vicious. I scramble onto my feet and trip through a swamp. The mud clings to my boots. Plants floating in the water slow me down as the shadows descend on me at last and plunge me into darkness._

I gasp and jerk upright in my bed. Letting my eyes focus, I sigh. _It's okay_, I tell myself. _There's a one in a million chance you'll be a tribute. _I untangle myself from the sheets on my bed and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I look over at the pretty faded yellow dress resting on a chair by my window.

_The reaping..._

I walk over to it and stare at it until I hear my mother's voice rising into my thoughts. "Bellatrix," she calls from outside my bedroom door, "you slept in. The reaping will begin soon."

"Alright," I answer just loud enough for her to hear.

I'm only twelve. This is the first Reaping I've ever had to worry about. Fortunately, I probably won't ever have to worry too much about it again. I'm the daughter of the richest people in District 3, not counting the mayor's own family. Though we still have trouble sometimes and I've had to learn the understanding of being hungry and dehydrated, I won't have to put more than one of my name, Bellatrix Craine, in for the reaping to get food to keep me alive. Although, I don't want to have to watch others be chosen for the Hunger Games. I was never a good person for depression. Others may scream their heads off or cry themselves to death. I'm worse, and I don't want to have to explain it...especially to myself.

I pull on the yellow dress that makes my dark hair and eyes stand out even more. I look in my old, cracked mirror and slowly braid my hair in two, hoping that I can ward off the reaping just a little bit longer. Afterwards, I look at myself. Deep brown eyes, black hair, olive skin, small rounded nose, and flushed cheeks. Usually they're filled with a slight rosy color. I guess not today.

Opening my door, I see my mother standing there waiting for me. She gives me a worried expression and puts her arms around me. "Mom," I mutter into her shoulder.

"Look at this," she whispers in my ear. "My only child going off to her first Reaping- or at least her first important one." The sudden memory of my twelfth birthday only a month or so ago rushes back to me. There were no smiles that day. None. Every single one before had been filled with happiness, but the invisible twelve resting over my head brought on the realization of my fate.

"Come on, Mom," I tell her. I back away from her and try to smile. I just barely succeed. "We'll be late."

On our way to the town square where everyone meets up for the reaping, I try to convince myself that everything will be okay. _Bellatrix_, I think, _stop your worrying. Like you said earlier, there's a one in a million chance you will be chosen as a tribute. Of course, it is a random pull...but that isn't the point. You will only have one of your name in there while many others will have more. You don't have to worry._

"Alright, Bellatrix," I hear my mother say. I snap out of my thoughts and listen to her. "This is it, sweetheart." She turns to me, a scared expression obvious on her face. "There's only the smallest chance, right? Only a tiny chance that you'll even be close to-" I interrupt her with a hug. She wraps her arms tightly around me.

"Breathe, Mom," I tell her in as calm a voice I can muster at this moment. "Everything will be alright. Okay?" I back away to see her reply. She turns to my father who's been standing silently by us the entire time. He never approved of me. He didn't like the idea of me learning about nature and the human body rather than how to use a weapon and gaining physical strength. He still cared for me though. I am his daughter after all.

"It will only be a few minutes," he says in his deep voice. "Then you will be back with us and we will all go home."

"Daddy, take care of Mom until then." His face shows surprise. Maybe the smile was a bit too much to add at this point. He simply nods. I turn away and start walking toward the group of twelve –year-olds at the back of the large crowd of twelve to eighteen-year-old kids waiting to know if they'll be a tribute in Panem's nasty Hunger Games.

"I'm scared," I hear a kid my age whimper. It's a small girl, way smaller than I am. Her arms and legs are as thin as a branch from a scrawny tree. Her small hands covered her face. She didn't seem to be talking to anyone specifically, but I walk up to her anyway.

"Don't be," I tell her. She looks up in the shock that someone actually heard her.

"What?" she whispers. I look her straight in the eye. She's shorter than me so I have to look down. "What did you say?"

"Don't be," I repeat. "Don't be so scared."

"How are you so confident?" She drops her hands.

"I'm not. I'm equally as scared as everyone else."

"I know you," she hisses. I'm surprised by the dangerous aura she suddenly has. "You're that _girl._ You're a _Craine_." She spits it out like it's venom. "Well, I got news for you. Just because you're name is only in there once doesn't mean anything. My name is in more than once. So go away and stop teasing the rest of us."

"I-I didn't mean-" I stutter. She pushes me away from her and my mind explodes. "Hey! You don't have a right to treat me this way!" I yell exactly what I think. "I'm not trying to be mean or anything!" She glares at me for one last second before changing her expression. She starts to cry and others of our age group come over to see what's the matter. They must see me red in the face with anger and her crying. Thus, that means they will probably get the wrong idea. _Great_, I tell myself. _Now look what you've done._

"Get away!" a boy shouts at me.

"Don't be so mean, Craine!" another person starts. Then, suddenly, every twelve-year-old is against me.

"Hello, District 3!" a loud voice says. "Welcome to the thirty-fourth Hunger Games!" I back away from the others that seem to hate me now. Then again, none of them ever met me. I don't work in the factories like they have to. I do work though, if you count the occasional piece of machinery that my neighbors can't seem to fix. Other than that, I've always been caught up in some book. I don't go to school either. My parents, though they work long hours in the factories, taught me themselves.

I hear people speaking on the stage set up for the reaping. Am I paying attention? Not at all. How can I pay attention to whoever is talking when I have as good a chance as anyone else to be chosen as a tribute for the Games? I don't want to die. _No_, I tell myself. _Stop. Everyone_else_has a chance._You_don't._

"We shall do the ladies first!" I know this woman. She's Elena Bonita. Capitol people are always loud and obnoxious. She isn't any different dressed in her fancy clothes. I look her up and down. She looks well fed, maybe a bit too well fed. She's still a slim woman though.

_Wait_, I think. _Did she just say 'ladies first'? Good. This way I won't have to be pulled by suspension like the boys because they're second-_

"Bellatrix Craine!" I blink and turn to look around me. I could have sworn I heard my name. It was probably my mother being worried about me. But, wait. That wasn't my mother's voice. Oh! Perhaps it was one of the others that were mad at me. But... Our voices are still a little squeaky from our age. This voice was older. "Where are you, Bellatrix Craine?" I slowly move my head up to Elena. _No,_ my mind screams. _No, no, no, and no! This- This isn't-_"There you are!" I feel peacekeepers' hands pushing me forward. "Traitor twelve-year-olds," I think as they back away from me to show where I was.

"What?" a peacekeeper by me asks.

"I said that out loud didn't I?" I mutter. I'm pushed onto the stage. Looking up, I see my face plastered to the television screen hanging above my head at the top of the stage. My eyes are wild and my hair is losing in a fight against the breeze.

"Come," Elena says. "Come, dearie. Stand right here." She drags me by my arm to the center by the glass ball full of the names of the girls. _The names_, my thoughts whisper. _The hundreds- if not thousands- of names on slips of paper...and only one was mine. One. Yet, that was the one slip her manicured hand happened to reach for. Did she see the name and reach for it on purpose? Maybe she knows my parents? Grandparents? Heard of them before and wanted to see me?_"Our male tribute is...Tophani Salasata!"

I see a boy start his way from the group of fourteen-year-olds. He's small. He's shorter than me and thinner too, which seems a little odd showing he's older than me. We could very clearly be mistaken for family members, though, with our black hair and brown eyes. I thank him with my mind for momentarily taking the cameras away from me. I search for my parents, remembering them. I spot them behind everyone else. My father is holding my mother. I cannot see her face because it is buried in his shirt. I know he is pale though. The dark eyes we share wide and looking right at me seem to be speaking to me.

_Why?_they seem to whisper. _Why you? Why us? You only had one name. One…why?_

"Now, shake hands, you two," the mayor, who I didn't even notice before, says. I turn slowly to Tophani and have to slightly bend my head down to look at him. He seems calm enough in our situation. _How?_I want to ask him. _How are you so calm when we just had our death warrants signed for us?_His hand is stretched out. I hesitatingly take it, my heart pounding against my ribs. Panem's anthem plays.

I blink and take a deep breath.

* * *

I'm in a beautiful room. I don't care. "Mom," I whisper standing in its center. "Dad. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed...I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in this room." The door bursts open. I'm suddenly in my mother's arms and tears are running down both of our faces like rivers. I feel my father's arms come around both of us. I've never seen him cry. We pull away from one another. My mother strokes my hair and wipes hurriedly at my eyes as if she can push the tears into nonexistence.

"Bellatrix," my dad finally says. "Everything will be alright...right?" He's asking me? My father...he's the bravest man I've ever known. He's asking me...

"Daddy," I whimper and fall into his arms. He clutches my head with one hand and holds me with the other. I feel his warm tears falling onto my shoulder. "I don't know, Daddy." He pulls away to look at me. I give him a small smile. "But...I'm sure everything will be okay." That gives him the strength to smile back and we all hug again.

"Time's up," a peacekeeper says opening the door to the room. I nod to him. He seems to notice my strong father crying and closes the door after adding, "Hurry up." I turn back to my parents.

"Bellatrix," they say. I kiss them each on the cheek and give them one last tight hug.

"It's time, Mommy, Daddy," I say simply with a sad smile. "Wish me luck."

"Only the best for you," my mother cries. My father nods and grips my mother's hand tightly. He opens the door.

"We love you, Bellatrix," he sighs. "After this, you will be back with us and we will all go home together." The door closes behind them and I feel sick. _After this_, my mind repeats. _After this, there might not be a me to go with them._

* * *

_**Tophani Salasata**_

_**By: Enzonia**_

* * *

I chuck a rock at the factory in front of me, missing my intended target by several meters. That's not really much of a surprise to be honest, as my aim's never really been that good. I could probably sit here chucking rocks for hours, and wouldn't hit that camera until the games had finished.

_Thunk._

Another rock slams into the wall, and falls down to the ground, where a small pile has been forming over the last hour or two.

Is it weird to say that this is my hobby?

_Yes, it is, _a quiet, but determined part of my brain tells me. _You've been wasting what might be the last day in your home district chucking rocks at a CCTV camera for no real reason._

_It won't be my last day._

Because that's true. Or, almost certainly true. There's probably around 10,000 people here in District 3, and about 2,000 of them are of reap-able age (we don't tend to live that long). The average number of slips _should _be about 5, but if you factor in tesserae, the number's more like 10 per person. 10 x 2,000 = 20,000 slips in that orb; 10,000 which I could get chosen from.

I have taken 8 slips, plus the 1 I have too, and I'm 14 years old so 9 + 10 + 11 = 30 slips with my name, Tophani Salasata, written on them. That means a 0.3% chance that I'll get chosen to take part in the Games. If you factor in my siblings who are eligible, the odds go up to 0.65% chance that someone I know will get chosen. Adding on my best (and only) friend, Mitra, to this tally brings the total odds of someone I care about being chosen to 0.7%.

The odds of dying of natural causes (if it's _natural _to die crushed under a large piece of machinery is debatable though) is just shy of 1% a year. (Calculated through dividing the number of people in District 3 by the number that die each year and multiplying by 100).

That means that I am statistically more likely to die _without _the Hunger Games, than for someone I know to get chosen and (inevitably) die in the games.

Math is my favorite subject at school.

If you can call _that place_ a school.

I chuck another rock at the camera to release my pent-up aggression about that particular subject.

The miss is closer this time, making the camera wobble precariously, like some bird of prey perched on a mountain top.

Our _school_ is basically a place where we learn to take apart, and put together mechanical things, something I have done ever since I was born anyway, so it's not even hard. In Math we sit and stare at a wall while a teacher attempts to explain that 2 + 2 = 4 to some sleeping teenagers.

I once asked her about logarithms and trigonometry, and she gave me a blank stare.

_You really are psychopathic, aren't you? _my brain says scathingly.

_I've never bitten anyone ever since, thank you very much! And it's her fault anyway; she got in the way of my teeth…_

That made me seem even weirder than before to everyone else in my class, not that they hadn't made their minds up already.

_Thunk._

Another rock hits the wall, and rolls into the small pile beneath it.

I'm running low on rocks.

I sigh slightly and sit up, staring moodily at the pile of rocks, trying to estimate their weight, and from that, deducing how much energy I have wasted, and how that equates to food, and money.

"Tophi?"

A voice calls out from behind, and I turn round, hoping to see Mitra, or maybe a peacekeeper coming to arrest me. But to be honest, what peacekeeper is going to call me Tophi? The voice turns out to belong to my oldest sister, Garami, who's already dressed up for the reaping.

That's the worst bit; they make us treat today like a celebration.

_Actually, the worst bit is probably the murdering bit… _The logical part of me begins to reason, but is cut off shortly by a ruder side of me that only appears on reaping day.

_Shut it._

"What?" I say, turning back to the rocks, now I know I'm not going to be arrested.

"Mom says to come back and get ready, or you're going to be late for the reaping." She tells me. There's a pause before she continues, this time in the incredulous voice people who talk to me often use.

"What _are _you doing here?" She follows my line of sight, and sees the large pile of rocks under the camera, on the other side of the fence. "Are you _trying _to get arrested?" She asks, looking disdainful now.

"Yes."

…

"_What?!" _she stops talking after this outburst, though she splutters slightly, apparently dumbstruck by the honest answer (really, people ask you a question, you actually answer it, and they go all spluttery and angry on you).

She looks at me, hoping for an explanation, but I don't give her one, and she writes it off as another part of my odd personality.

Odd's one word for it, the people at school have a wide variety, ranging from "weirdo" to "psycho" to the only-once-used "boy with too much brain and too little of anything else".

Actually a pretty good description of me.

I avoid talking as much as possible, and have very little in the way of voice. According to the only person who I talk to on a regular basis, Mitra, I could pass for mute if I really wanted to. I've always been short too, with my lack of height. I can barely reach the tables in the factories, and I'm just glad that some younger children work at the plant, so I can steal their chairs, designed to be higher. I blame it on bad nutrition, but my mom swears I've got some dwarf blood in me somewhere, and she tells me I'd be a midget whatever food I stuffed into myself.

My face looks is completely round, like a circle, and my nose is short, thin and pointy. You could probably use it as a knife if you wanted to, not that my family has any food to cut anymore. We barely scrape by, and if it wasn't for me working, we'd all be starving even more than we are already. I'm skinny, like most in my district, and I'd probably be 70 pounds on a good day, but it's never normally a good day where _I _live. The emaciated look I have is shared with most inhabitants of District 3, though I seem to have got it worse than other people, or maybe my round face just exaggerates the gaunt look.

The only part of me with any color at all is my hair, but it's not exactly _pretty_. I haven't had my hair cut since I was 13, and I don't think it's ever been washed. It hangs limply around my ears and shoulders, thin and straggly, like the rest of me. It's completely black, and keeps flopping into my eyes at irritating times.

The only part of my appearance that I actually like is my eyes, and that's only because (as far as I know) malnutrition can't make them look worse, like it's done to the rest of my body. They're a yellow-ish brown, but much too big for my face, rounding off the whole "startled owl" look I've got going on.

"Are you mad?"

My sister seems to have regained the use of her vocal chords. I shrug as way as an answer, but this doesn't seem to satisfy her.

"What would mom and dad do if you got caught _breaking CCTV cameras? _You know they'd execute you without a second glance!"she says, beginning to shout now.

I realize that shrugging will just provoke her further, so I give my first full-sentence response for weeks.

"Cry for a few months, then get on with life?"

She starts to splutter again, and I push myself upright, and start to walk towards the dull grey apartment block that's supposed to be my home, though I refuse to call it that. It's just the small hovel where I'm forced to reside at this moment in time.

My sister follows, silently, muttering words like "selfish" and "no idea" occasionally, but wary about continuing conversation with me.

I have that sort of effect on people.

* * *

"YOU ARE NOT GOING LOOKING LIKE THAT!" My mom shouts as I walk out the doorway with a small "bye" by way of an explanation.

I turn to her, and utter the word that everyone I know hates most.

"Why?"

She splutters a bit (is that where Garami gets it from?) and then actually responds with a satisfactory answer. It's times like these when I fully appreciate the fact that she's my mother.

"Because you look like a tramp who's been rolling around in the dirt, and what would the Capitol think if you went there dressed like…like _that!_" She gives my dirty clothes a look of trepidation, like they might leap off me and begin attacking her.

I _have _actually been rolling about in the dirt, looking for rocks. Attacking that camera is a hobby of mine, or maybe a tradition. I've worked out the odds, and my chances of death are more likely painful than not painful, and being shot falls under "not painful", so it's actually a rational decision, if you think about it.

Nobody thinks about it.

I suppress the urge to shrug and say my second, full-sentence answer of the day. Must be some kind of personal record.

"That I'm a weakling who's going to die."

I ponder silently about telling her about how unlikely it is for me to be chosen, and how I'm more likely to die this year, but I don't think she'll fully appreciate the impressiveness of my mental calculation.

"Mental" being the key word.

I take a second to admire the shade of deep plum my mom's face has turned, before turning towards the door again.

"No!" she says firmly, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me into the chair, if we could afford rope, I'm sure she'd have tied me down too, as she reaches over for the scissors. "I am giving you a haircut."

I squirm slightly, but her grip is too strong.

"Sit still" she commands, and I can feel the cool metal touching the back of my neck "I haven't done this in a long time, and the more you move, the worse it's going to look"

I wriggle more strongly in response as she sighs and starts to cut off my hair.

* * *

"Why didn't you just sit still?" Sanni laments, looking at my greasy, limp, now uneven hair. Sanni's another one of my sisters, I have three in total. Sanni's oldest, at 16, then Garami, 15 and finally Thandaka, 10. I've also got two little brothers, Pani and Rakta, 10 and 9. Of all my siblings, Rakta's the only one who can think rationally. I've been considering training him as my apprentice in rationality.

I shrug at Sanni, as she looks at my hair in horror again. Her reaction's better than Garami, who laughed so hard she almost stopped breathing, and any reaction at all is better than my mom's reaction when she stood back and saw my hair properly. She gave it a look of horror she normally withholds for my detention slips.

"_And why did you feel the need to explain to Pida the odds of getting your arm stuck in a valve, and it ripping all his skin off?"_

I wince slightly at the memory, my mom's voice bouncing around my head a bit more. I still feel justified for doing that. The last two people with Pida's job _did _lose some skin, and so the odds were pretty high. I work with radiation, or more precisely, controlling it and stopping it from leaking out and giving everyone cancer.

_I never knew people could vomit if you told them what it looked like if you had your skin ripped off, _the logical bit of my brain repeats, remembering the fountain of sick he managed to eject in one go.

_That's because you're a psychopath, _a small voice whispers.

We manage to arrive at the square on time, which is positively late for District 3, as everyone's so early all the time. I say goodbye to my family, as I think mom would blow up if I tried to sidle off without doing so. I make my way forward, pushing my way to the front of the 14-year-old section.

"Hey, dwarf, the 12 –year-olds go at the front!" a boy behind me yells, I recognize him from school. 4 foot 5 is _not _a good height to be, and I'm shorter than most of the 12-year-olds.

I stand on my tip-toes, glancing around for Mitra, whose red hair positively glows in the confines of the dull and dusty District 3. I spot her in the female's section, and give her a small wave, though my arm barely reaches over the heads. I consider yelling to her, but decide against it. My voice box might die of shock at actually being used.

_Anyway, _the logical part of me reasons, _I can always talk to her later._

_Not if she's reaped, _the other part whispers.

_0.5% odds, that's tiny, less than me, anyway. She'll be fine._

_But what if-_

_SHUT UP!_

I shake my head physically, and the boys snigger, like they do at school all the time. It's a pretty weird noise, like when you shake a sugar shaker when it has too much sugar in it.

"HELLO DISTRICT 3!" A voice calls from the stage, and I bend sideways, to look up the aisle, in order to actually see anything. Elena Bonita is shouting from the stage. I sigh quietly, and stand up straight again, determined to spend the rest of the reaping staring at the boy in front's hair…

The way it's swishing is actually pretty hypnotizing…

But there's not such a thing as hypnosis…

"_BELLATRIX CRAINE!_"

I jump slightly, aware that I must have drifted off to sleep while still standing upright. I ponder on the use of this in the arena, before leaning sideways again to sneak a look at the girl.

"Where are you Bellatrix Craine?" she calls again, as no girl appears in the aisle. Everyone's staring around looking for her. I quickly evaluate the workability of hiding in the crowd as a possible tactic, but write it off almost instantaneously.

A peacekeeper calls from the 12-year-olds' section and shoves a girl forward, where the others have backed away like she was contagious or something.

_Maybe she is, _the logical bit goes. _She could have the flu, or TB, or something._

She looks pretty shocked.

She probably _is _pretty shocked.

She leaves, and I see that she's already taller than me (not really much of a surprise though). She actually looks very similar to me, as she has black hair, brown eyes and olive skin, like mine. But if you look closely, the similarities stop. Her eyes are a deep, dark brown, whilst mine are a slightly off-yellow. Her black hair shines in a way that only the rich peoples' do, and looks like it was cut professionally, not by her mother with rusty scissors like mine. She's skinny, but not in a malnourished way like me.

Elena starts to babble at her. "Come, come, dearie. Stand right here."

The girl follows (well, dragged by the arm to be honest) and steps up to the stage, and I feel my heart pound, as it always does, before the boy is chosen.

_It won't be me, think of the math. It won't be me, think of the math. It won't be me, think of the math. It won't be me, think of the math._

I repeat this chant in my head, trying to rationalize with myself. I blame my sister's influence.

"And for the boys!" Elena reaches into the other orb and pulls out a small slip of paper.

_0.3% chance, remember?_

"Our male tribute is…Tophani Salasata!"

I let loose a loud, obscene swear word, which I've only ever heard once before in my life, when my mom opened a letter my teacher sent, telling her that I'd been burying other people's books in the vegetable patches again.

Everyone looks at me, and I shrug at them. I turn and walk up to the stage, thinking of all the chances I had _not _to be chosen, and how in at least 332 alternate universes I was _not _chosen, and I hadn't just sworn loudly on national television.

Do the best with what you have though.

I step up to the stage, and am surprised to see that I'm not actually trembling or anything. I must deal with pressure well then. I look at Elena, and give Bellatrix a sideways glance, before letting my eyes glaze over somewhat, as my brain whirs, thinking of ways to escape and/or win the Games.

A quick bit of math gives me a 0.56% chance of escape versus a 1.838% chance of survival respectively, so I stay still on the stage, ideas for strategies racing through my head. My main problem is not being noticed, as I'm a runt, so I need to do something to stand out (barring swear words as an option after the response I got earlier).

A clunk echoes through my head as an idea forms.

Elena smiles and asks me "And how old are you then?"

I look at her.

She looks at me.

I shrug.

She blinks.

"And…?"

I raise my eyebrows and point to my throat and shake my head.

She looks confused.

I give her the most condescending look imaginable, which makes her flinch a bit, as a voice yells out from the crowd. "He's a mute!"

Mitra's voice. I knew she was clever, she always knows exactly what to do, and seems to read my mind half the time. I need something to make me stand out, and don't people always say I could pass as a mute? Elena looks confused, and I'm glad the Capitol's full of idiots that don't realize that I _just swore _in front of them, so can talk.

I give a nod to her, and turn to face the girl, Bellatrix, who seems to be having an attack of hysteria. I consider breaking my silence and telling her about calm breathing and the dangers of hyperventilation, but I doubt she'd appreciate it much, and I think staying mute makes things easier.

_You dangerous, mute lunatic, _the other part of my brain sighs, sounding exactly like Garami, except it isn't spluttering. _At least you made the interviews more interesting._

Brightening slightly at the prospect of making Caesar feeling _very _awkward, I reach forward and shake hands with Bellatrix, like asked, and revel in the warmth of it. I can actually feel her pulse racing frantically.

_Why isn't mine though? _I wonder as the anthem plays _I should be swearing again._

_You haven't got a heart, _Garami's voice tells me in a nasty voice. _You survive on equations and facts alone._

I imagine my logical half shrugging. _Fair enough._

* * *

While my parents come in and sob for a bit, my brain is literally whirring inside my head. Well no, not _literally_, but more metaphorically. I don't like people using the wrong words for things, not that I can use any words whatsoever from now until my death. Sad really. Ideas are forming in my head, some stupid, but most of them are good and logical.

Things I work out as I wait for the train (while I pat my mother on the back as she has started to cry again) include my Cornucopia plan. Run away. Over 50% of deaths occur there, and most people who go into the battle there die. The worst plan would be the grab-something-from-the-edge-and-then-run-like-the-wind plan, as most of the deaths _are _from that, people thinking that they'll just get away quickly, but they don't get away. They die. I'll just learn to live off the land and survive like that.

_If you _can _survive, _Garami's voice whispers, as the real Garami weeps openly on my mother's arm.

_If I can, then I will. If I can't, then I won't. That fact won't be changed by worrying about it, _my logical half says, in a tone as if explaining why 1 + 1 = 2.

"You will try hard to survive, won't you Tophi?" My little brother Pani asks, eyes unnaturally round at the moment, most likely due to fear. I ignore the use of my irritating name, and nod, because it wouldn't make sense _not _to try hard to survive, would it? It's hardwired into our systems through many years of evolution.

"But you're probably going to die, aren't you?" Rakta asks, looking both annoyed and confused at Pani's comment. I nod again, because it's true (1.838% chance, isn't it? Unless something dramatic happens to improve my odds which itself is unlikely). This causes the rest of my family to look upset and angry at Rakta, which seems unfair as all he did was mention the truth for once.

The peacekeeper comes over again, looking thoroughly suspicious. Probably due to the fact that I have talked in front of him, or at him earlier in my life, and now I'm suddenly a mute. I smile again at the prospect of an interview with Caesar, causing the peacekeeper to look even more suspicious. I suppose most people in this position look sad or cry. I've never really cried in my life, because it doesn't solve any problems. I asked my family and friend why they do it and they gave me the you're-being-weird-again-Tophani look. Well, Mitra didn't because she gets the you're-being-weird-again-Tophani look all the time, except it's more like you're-being-weird-again-_Mitra_ because her name is Mitra, not Tophani. My name's Tophani.

"Good Luck Tophi" My mother sobs, while my father clutches her arm tightly.

_Fact; wishing someone good luck will not create good luck. There are no such things as wishes. The Hunger Games saw to that years ago. _I would have told them about this particular thought if I wasn't pretending to be mute.

I wave to them as they leave the room, leaving behind nothing but salty pools of tears. And probably some dead skin and hair too, but that goes without saying, doesn't it?

"Are _you,_" The peacekeeper jabs a finger at me, "ready to _go?" _He begins to mime walking.

I stare at him, wondering why he's acting like I'm deaf or an idiot. I might be mute but I am certainly not unintelligent. I always do well in class, except when I'm biting teachers.

_Again, just the one time, _my brain protests. _Stop bringing that incident up, you make us seem bad._

It's probably because I act weird, even when I'm not being a mute. I don't talk much normally and I ignore most people because rule number 1 of life is that people are idiots. So he must be assuming things. Well, two people can make gestures.

I stick my middle finger up at him, giving him a universally known symbol in sign language. He glares at me, but this wasn't just an impulsive decision. I think everything through first and he can't do anything to me. He's too low down to sabotage the Games and make it harder for me but he can't hurt a tribute. He'll just have to suffer with me until we get to the train. I point to the door, as if to say, _I thought you said we were going, _and he glares at me again, half-shoving me towards the door. I stumble slightly but remain upright and begin to walk towards the train.

And most likely my death.

98.162% likely to be precise.


	4. District 4 Reaping

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews, guys. It means so much to all of us! Enjoy this next chapter :)

* * *

_**Emily Mchwa**_

_**By: some managed mischief**_

* * *

I awake to the usual sounds of the waves pounding on the shore. That was my lullaby by night and my wake up call in the morning. The steady, rhythmic roar calms my heart, which is frantically beating from my latest nightmare about the Games. It had been such a horrible dream, where I was chained up to a tree and a faceless Career that I vaguely recognized from one of the past Games was slowly killing me with my own knife.

It's times like this when I am glad that I live in District Four, and that my family is lucky enough to have a house on the beach. The waves are as soothing to me as a mother's lullaby is to a baby.

"Ems! It's time to get up!"

My brother's voice interrupts my early morning serenity. Even today, Reaping Day, the people in District Four get up early. The poorest always fish on Reaping Day, hoping to get whatever extra catch they can.

I drag myself out of bed and walk to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"There you are Emmy! Breakfast is ready," Mitchell says. My mother is sitting at the table already, munching on a roll of bread and a helping of fish.

Fish. That's all we ever got. After my brother turned 18 seven years ago, he became a fisherman. Whatever isn't good enough for the Capital to eat, the fishermen split amongst themselves. The good part of that is that it makes our district wealthy when compared to other districts. The bad part of it is that all we ever get to eat is fish.

I can hear my mother now if I ever say that.

_You should be grateful! Do you think those poor starving children in District Twelve care what they eat? No, because they're lucky to even get food out there. Now eat your fish and be grateful._

One of the reasons why I was so indifferent to my mother is because she is so selfless. All my life she has raised me to give everything to others and leave nothing but scraps for myself. Why do they deserve the good food any more than I do?

My brother tries to keep the peace between us by sneaking me treats every once and a while to keep me under control, but that doesn't stop my mother and I from getting into fights almost every day. Just about the only good thing she's done for me is sending me to the Training Center.

My uncle, Mother's brother, had been a well known rebel leader way back when. He was executed, leaving Mother his only family. Mother sent my brother and I to the Training Center in case our connection with him got our names pulled from the Reaping bowl. Mother had tried to justify herself with saying that if we won everyone in our district would get food, but Mitchell says that it was proof she loved us very much. I highly doubt that.

The only people I love are Mitchell and my best friend since birth, Zoe. Unlike me, with my wild untamable hair and freckles, Zoe is the epitome of beauty. She has bronze locks that flow down to her waist and perfectly tanned skin. Matched with her stunning eyes, which are the color of the sky at night, complete with golden stars, she is easily the most beautiful girl in District Four, and in all of Panem for that matter.

I don't realize I have been eating until my plate is empty. Mitchell takes it to the sink and rinses it.

"You have a few hours until the Reaping. Why don't you go out and do something enjoyable?" Mitchell says to me.

I nod and head out the door. As I walk away from the house, I can hear Mother speaking with a tone of disapproval in her voice. I smirk. Like she could control me.

I wander along the street towards Zoe's house. She will be up for swimming, as she loves the ocean almost as much as I. Technically, we're not allowed to swim for any reason other than fishing, but Zoe and I get away with it. That's because even the Peacekeepers find me endearing.

I have noticed that people in District Four, and I suppose people in general, love to preserve innocence. It's what makes them love me so much. My round face and big eyes are so childlike, that people are drawn to me and want to protect me. Despite my appearance, I learned long ago that the world is not filled with the mermaids and unicorns from the District Four legends that parents tell their children before they put them to sleep. If you want to survive, you can only care about yourself and a select few others. If you become like my mother and start caring more for others than yourself, then the reality of Panem will rip you apart and burn the pieces.

I learned that long ago, surprisingly from my mother. She was a rebel along with my uncle. She cared too much about the people who got the worst lots in life. She couldn't deal with the aftermath of seeing people die. She is helpless now, depending on Mitchell to take care of her.

That's another unforgivable thing to do. Being completely dependent on another person is a highly dangerous thing to do. Become unaccustomed to surviving without someone to take care of you and when that person is gone, you follow soon after.

After Zoe is ready, we walk down to the beach. Zoe and I sit in the water, the waves washing over our legs as they crash onto the shore.

"Nervous?" Zoe asks.

"No. I've been waiting for this since my first day of training," I say.

A few days ago, the Head Trainer at the District Four Training Center told me that he wanted me to volunteer this year.

* * *

I gather my belongings and exit the locker room at the District Four Training Center. I wave goodbye to a few of the girls I know from rope climbing class and head towards the south exit.

"Emily! Wait," I hear a voice saying.

I turn to see Emmet, the Head Trainer and my personal trainer as well.

"Do you think you'll be volunteering this year?" Emmet asks me, absentmindedly fingering the knife he keeps in his belt.

"I don't know, I haven't thought about it much," I say.

"Well I think you would have a good chance in the Games. Volunteer this year," he said.

I smile to myself. I've never thought much of Emmet, with him understanding my thoughts and actions much too well, but I have to appreciate his ability to see past my charade. Of course, I privately think that his charming smile, dimples and dark brown hair are really hot, but I keep this to myself.

I bring myself back to the present, focusing on Emmet's words.

"Use your gifts for making people feel sorry for you. Pretend that the girl whose name is drawn is close to you. Cry, do that doe eyes thing you do so well. Hide your abilities. Mags will help you. She's the mentor. Get a low score in training. You can do it," Emmet says.

I nod and he pats my shoulder before turning to leave.

* * *

I shake my head and bring myself out of my flashback. Zoe is smiling serenely, her eyes closed. I know from years of spending everyday with Zoe that this is how she calms her nerves. Not that she has anything to worry about. She won't be reaped. I have a guarantee that I will go into the Games. Not that I'm nervous. No, there is no doubt in my mind that I will be volunteering today, and the only other person who knows is Zoe. She is desperately trying to convince me that I don't have to volunteer, but I'm determined to win. I will not be relying on Mitchell to take care of me until I marry some guy who will take care of me. What would happen to me? I would lose my ability to survive alone, that's what.

I will miss Zoe and Mitchell while I'm gone. Heck, I'll even miss Emmet. Nobody in the Capitol will know that rather than the helpless little girl I appear to be, I'm a girl who could kill them in a blink of an eye. That's what first helped Emmet see through me.

On my first day, he had been giving me a hard time about how I'd never make it at the Training Center. I got so mad that I used threw three knifes at him which pinned him by his shirt to the wall. I used another knife to threaten him and I used some words that would have gotten me grounded for the rest of life if I had used them in front of my mother. That was the day he realized not to judge me by first impressions.

"Emmy! Emmy are you listening to me?" I hear Zoe say.

"What? Sorry. Just thinking about today," I tell her.

She gives me an understanding look.

"We've been here for a few hours. We have to get ready for the Reaping," Zoe says.

I nod and stand. Zoe wraps me up in a hug.

"Wear something pretty. You want to look good for the Capitol," she says, trying and failing to keep her voice from breaking.

I nod and we go our separate ways. I have to remind myself that this would not be the last time I would see her. She will come say goodbye to me after the Reaping.

When I get home, my mother is nowhere to be found, but my brother is sitting at the kitchen table.

"Ems, I was beginning to worry you would never get home. Go get ready," Mitchell says.

I go to my small bedroom and fish in the closet for the dress I had gotten just for today. It was a simple white dress that makes me look years younger than I am. I bathe, and then slip the frock on. I sit in front of our dirty mirror and try to tame my wild hair. I sigh as I look into the mirror. I will never get the Capitol to love me, not like they love the most beautiful tributes I see on TV every year. My skin is too tan to be considered fair but too pale to be perfectly tanned like the other girls in my district. My eyes are a muddy green, and my nose is too big. I have a gap between my two front teeth that most people call "cute," but I think it just looks hideous. My freckles cover me, making me look like I have some strange disease and my hair- oh my hair! My hair is a horrible cross between brown and red. I have seen girls with red hair who look beautiful and girls with brown hair who are beautiful, but my hair is an ugly color that reminds me of mud mixed with blood. Not only that but it is so curly that it refuses to cooperate with me, choosing to simply resemble barbed wire. Don't even get me started on the fact that at 17, I haven't lost any of my baby fat. It's humiliating.

When I manage to get my hair looking halfway decent, I go to the kitchen where Mitchell and Mother are waiting. None of us speak as we walk the short way to the Town Square. When we arrive, I get in line to get my finger pricked. I force a smile at some of the other kids in line when they greet me, but I don't speak to any of them.

"Next!" the Peacekeeper calls.

I step forward and hold out my hand. A sharp prick in the finger later, my blood is wiped on the paper. The Peacekeeper scans it and waves me on to the 17-year-old area. I walk confidently forward.

There's a certain calmness in knowing what's going to happen, even if it's something bad. There is no suspense, no waiting for the verdict, just certainty that something's coming.

I find my place where I am every year. I always stand in the place closest to the aisle, in the front. Zoe, being a few months younger than I am, and is in the Reaping group the year below me, stands closest to the aisle in the back of her Reaping Group. This position allows me to be directly behind her. She's already there when I arrive, and she greets me with a strained smile.

"Nervous?" she asks me.

"Not really. I already know what's going to happen," I say.

She turns back toward the stage, but reaches behind her and squeezes my hand with hers.

I look up at the stage and see that the District Four escort, a man named Damian Rivers, was on the stage. Every year, Damian dresses like a different fish. I wonder if he realizes that we kill fish here. This year his clothes are purple, which contrasts against the orange of his skin. He is smiling maniacally down at the kids congregated below him, and his teeth are gleaming white.

The mayor is also on stage. He is an old man who is easily overlooked because he is so small. I've never really spared him any thought.

My mentor will be Magdelena Delphine. She is 48-years-old, and there are rumors in District Four that she is completely crazy. She had become the victor of the very first Hunger Games when she was 14. Her Games are never shown, so I don't know what happened in them. She doesn't have any family left, and I don't know if she even has any friends.

Magdelena and the mayor are conversing from their seats on stage, and Damian is still grinning excitedly down at all of the kids assembled below him, perhaps wondering who the tributes will be. I turn my attention from the stage to the crowd of boys on the other side of the aisle. I search their faces, wondering who it will be that will go into the Games with me, who it will be that will die. There are some that I recognize from the Training Center, such as the son of a past victor who I know is planning on volunteering next year. He's good enough with weapons, but he has no brains whatsoever. I don't know his first name, but I know that his last name is Catchrose.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" the mayor calls out.

There are cheers, mainly from the kids training to be Careers, and loudest of all Damian. The film about the mercy of the Capitol blah-blah-blah comes on, repeating what everybody in the districts hear every year.

I tune out the film, and focus on what I know is coming. I will volunteer in just a few minutes. I know that I will have to look weak, like the helpless little girl everyone thought I was, so I bite my tongue hard to draw tears from my eyes. I pull myself back from my inner thoughts as Damian steps forward to draw the names from the Reaping Bowls.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Damian calls in his infuriating Capitol accent. "May the odds be ever in your favor! Now for the moment you've all been waiting for! Which lucky lady will be chosen to take part in the Hunger Games this year?"

Damian is smiling maniacally as he reaches into the girls Reaping Bowl. He pulls out a single slip of paper, and unfolds it slowly for effect.

"Zoe Sorenson!" he calls.

Zoe gives my hand one final squeeze and steps out into the aisle. Immediately, Peacekeepers descend on her and herd her towards the stage. She mounts the steps and stands next to Damian. Her face is calm, because she knows that I'm volunteering this year. She knows she won't go into the arena.

"Any volunteers?" Damian asks.

I step forward into the aisle. I force my voice to shake as I say, "I volunteer!"

Zoe steps down and I walk forward towards the stage. As we pass, she gives me tight hug. I hug her back.

"Good luck Emmy, remember that I love you," Zoe says.

"I love you too," I say.

This will add to my charade. Whether this was her intention or not, I will never know.

I walk up the steps, being careful to stumble and make one of the Peacekeepers steady me. I shakily walk up to be next to Damian, and he beams at me as if I had already won.

"Perfect! What is your name?" he asks me.

"Emily Mcwha," I tell him. I can hear my voice shaking.

"Well Emily, I'm sure you're very excited to be in the Games," he says. He quickly pulls the attention away from me, because I have just forced a tear to roll down my cheek.

"Now for the boys," Damian says.

He reaches into the boys Reaping Bowl and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Jan Fitson!" He calls out. A young boy walks to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Damian asks.

There are a few moments of silence before a voice, laced with desperate excitement, calls, "I volunteer!"

At first, I think that the boy who walks forward is the son of the victor, something Catchrose, but I realize that the boy I know from the Training Center is more muscular than this boy, more physically intimidating. The boy is tall and slim, with floppy blonde hair. Not intimidating at all, an easy kill. I realize that this must be something Catchrose's twin. The little boy and the volunteer pass without acknowledging each other, and the volunteer stands on the other side of Damian.

"Wonderful! What's your name?" Damian asks.

"Francis Catchrose," the boy says. His voice is blank without any emotion.

So I was right about being related to the victor and the boy from the Training Center.

Up close, I realize that the boy is scruffy, his hair disheveled and his clothes grimy. Grass stains on his knees and tear streaks on his face. I have to stop my nose from wrinkling in disgust. Is that really the impression he wants to make on the Capitol?

Damian asks us to shake hands, and we do. His face is blank, showing no empathy for me, so I force my eyes to widen with fright and I make my lower lip tremble slightly, hoping to stir some sympathy from him. Unfortunately, he turns away before I can see if it worked.

Peacekeepers usher us inside, and it's time to say goodbye to our families.

* * *

First in to see me is my mother. She gives me a few words of advice, a quick hug, and then she leaves. That's all our relationship calls for.

Next in is Mitchell. He wraps me up in one of his bone-crushing hugs, and my feet are lifted off the floor.

"Why did you volunteer Emmy?" Mitchell asks me, his voice rough from tears I hadn't known he had been shedding.

"I had too. I couldn't let Zoe go into the Games. She wouldn't have been able to make it past day one. I've had training. I'll come back," I say.

It's better to let Mitchell think that I went into the Games because I cared about Zoe, and not know that I had been planning this for a few days.

Although most people think I am the helpless one in our family, I am the one who is the strongest. Sure, Mitchell can provide for our family, and is one of the strongest physically in District Four, but he needs me to make the world seem like a better place sometimes. I almost feel bad for leaving him to fend for both him and mother, but I have to do this. I will come back, I know it.

"Ems, you're too brave for your own good," Mitchell says.

He squeezes me in his arms and presses his face into my hair. I do not cry. I cannot. Not when Mitchell needs me to be strong for him.

Mitchell tries to blink back his tears, but a few escape and roll down his cheeks.

"Emily," Mitchell says, his voice somber, more so than I have ever heard it. The use of my full name, which he never uses, only emphasizes the seriousness of this situation. "You have to promise me that you'll come back. Promise me that when you are in the arena that you'll think of me and Zoe and do everything in your power to return to us. We need you."

I nod, not breaking the eye contact between us.

"Good," Mitchell says.

He opens his mouth to continue, but a Peacekeeper opens the door and tells him that it's time for him to leave.

"I love you Ems," Mitchell says.

He gives me one last squeeze before he turns and follows the Peacekeeper out of the door.

The door reopens almost immediately and Zoe runs into the room. Her eyes are shining with tears, making her look tragically beautiful.

"Oh Emmy, you crazy girl! You should have let me go in!" Zoe shouted.

She drops to her knees, and sobs rack her body. I crouch next her to, and wrap my arms around her slim frame.

"It's alright Zoe. I have a plan. I've been training for a long time. I'll come back, you'll see," I say.

She looks up at me. Her eyes are filled with a hopeless desperation.

"I wish I could go in instead of you," Zoe says. "I don't do anyone any good. You help your family survive. Everybody loves you. The only thing I'm good for is looking pretty."

"Don't say that. I planned to volunteer. I want to go into the games. I would rather go in to save you," I say.

A flicker of affection is shown in her eyes.

"Come back Emmy. I can't lose my sister," Zoe says.

She wraps me up in a bone-crushing hug, and we stay there until the Peacekeeper forces her out.

I drag myself up onto the couch and sit with my eyes closed. The ocean is too far away to hear, but I imagine that I'm still in my bed at home, and that the waves are soothing me as I fall asleep. I wonder if my new District Partner, Francis, loves the ocean as much as I do. I wonder if he is using the same technique I am to calm himself now. Does he even need to be calmed? It is not often that I find a person that I can't read, but Francis Catchrose does not let his emotions show at all. What is he thinking? Is he scared? Does he regret volunteering? Why did he volunteer in the first place? What does he think of me?

I am so immersed in my thoughts that I don't realize that another person was in the room until they lay a hand on my shoulder. My eyes fly open, and I see Emmet standing before me, his hand on my shoulder.

"Emily, are you alright?" he asks me.

"Yeah, just a little nervous," I say.

"Emily, this may be only my second year as a trainer, but I've been alive for 19 years, and I know enough to know that you are a lot more than nervous," Emmet says.

Emmet's knack for guessing my thoughts and emotions has always unnerved me, but now I am glad for someone I could honestly spill all of my feelings to.

"Well, I know that I have a good chance of coming back, but I told Mitchell and Zoe that I was for sure coming back, and no if I don't come back they'll be so devastated and I won't be there to make them feel better. You know Mitchell, he'll never be able to keep going if I die. I don't even know what Zoe would do. I have to come back, and I'm scared that I won't." I say all of this in one breath.

"Emily…Ems, you will come back. I know you, and you are no doubt the best fighter I have ever seen. Even if you do die in the games, I'll make sure that Mitchell and your mother and Zoe all get enough food. Everything will work itself out, you'll see," Emmet says.

I nod.

The door opens and a Peacekeeper motions for Emmet to leave.

"I'll see you when you get back Ems," Emmet says.

He walks out of the room and the door shuts, clicking with a finality that gave me shivers up my spine.

* * *

_**Francis Catchrose**_

_**By: CapitolEffie**_

* * *

"So the academy says you're not ready for the Games this year?" barks my father.

"Yes dad," my twin brother murmurs sullenly, his eyes inspecting the flimsy Capitol made china that graces our breakfast table. It was a gift to my father from his mentor after he won the 12th Hunger Games.

"Hmph," is the only response from the aging victor.

Everything that had once won him the Games has long since deteriorated until he's barely recognisable as the handsome victor who bloodied his hands with the most kills in living memory. Now the muscles are replaced with a beer belly that strains to escape his shirt, his golden skin is mottled and laced with wrinkles and his chestnut coloured locks have been dyed fake bleach blonde. The only thing that remains unsullied by the years is the eternal anger and thirst for blood that is prevalent among all veterans of the Hunger Games.

A loaded silence fills the breakfast room and I hear every tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. I keep my eyes focused remotely on a spot a couple of feet above the doorway, counting the prissy flowers on the wallpaper, wishing I could be anywhere else in Panem. I can feel my mother shifting anxiously next to me and no doubt her eyes are focused on my dad, waiting for an explosion.

"I'll train harder. I'll do it next year you know I will."

The only person who can ever get my arrogant twin to speak with any kind of fear or respect is our father. Right now Fulvian is running his hand through the blonde hair nervously, as he waits for him to answer.

"Well I waited till eighteen before I volunteered too," muses father slowly. Everyone relaxes. "Maybe it's even better this way, extra training time."

"I'm already top of my class for everything. There isn't that much more they can do," laughs Fulvian. The tension dissipates as quickly as it had formed. My father's rage has been avoided for now. We aren't always so lucky, be it me or my mother and sometimes even Fulvian, we have all fallen victim to his anger at least once in our lives and it's never pretty.

Fulvian's arrogance is firmly back in place now though and father becomes more annoying than terrifying. The staple of today's breakfast conversation, and every other days, is my brother boasting about his achievements at the Careers academy. Today he is being particularly unbearable, clearly over compensating after the great disappointment of not being able to volunteer this year. Unfortunately most of what he's saying is true, he is the best and the district's next big hope of winning the games. I don't know how two twins could turn out so differently. Sure we're both tall and share the same floppy blonde hair but he's all hard muscle and arrogance, in short a typical Career, where as I am more lithe than muscled and hate the name Career. I never enrolled in the academy much to my father's disappointment, the Games always seemed nightmarish when I saw them on the TV, and I've fallen out of my family's world since then.

I'm brought back from my thoughts by my father's fist banging against the table. I flinch but it seems that he was just enthusiastically recounting some fight from his Hunger Games.

"...I had this boy from 1, both hands round his neck like this, but then his district partner was running at me, so I got my knife out and waited till the last minute and turned to face her and she ran right into it and then..."

We have all heard this particular story a million times but my mother still makes the right noises of shock and surprise as we hear about my father ripping someone's throat out. Fulvian listens too, while shoveling down bacon, grunting with laughter at the particularly gruesome parts. I wince. The only time my father seems alive is when he is recounting the past victories of his Games, his ruddy face reaches an unprecedented maroon colour and the light of bloodlust colours his dull eyes.

"Okay." My father's chair scraped back loudly on the wooden floor. "I need to get to the justice building before the reaping to talk to Mags."

"Why are you talking to that crazy old woman?" Fulvian asked. My father is friendly with a lot of the other victors from 4 but Mags is not one of them. People say she's crazy, I'm not so sure. Maybe she's just having a hard time living with what she did in the Games, I think what would really be crazy is not.

"I need to find out who's volunteering this year. The batty women usually won't tell me anything but it's worth a try."

"The Mark's girl is reaping age now," my mother volunteers.

"No it's confirmed she will be waiting till next year. Keep an eye on that one, Fulvian."

My brother nods absorbing the new information, still eating. Father nods a brisk farewell and is marching out of the room. In the wake of his noisy departure we are quiet. I listen to my mother sipping tea and my brother's fork scraping on his plate as I finish my own breakfast at break neck speed before getting up.

"I'm going out."

It is unnecessary to say more than that as no one really cares what I do as long as it doesn't threaten their twisted idea of what a perfect family should be. My mother doesn't even look up just nods absent mindedly but my brother finally stops eating to look up at me, a malicious glint in his eye.

"Going to see your boyfriend?"

"No what are you-" I splutter confused before I realise he must be referring to Harris. How he found out about my friendship, just friendship okay, with the boy who works on the docks is anyone's guess. It's very unusual for my brother to take any interest in my life and I prefer it that way, he's at his nicest when he's ignoring me. When he picks up on something it is for one of two reasons, he's going to take the piss out of me or he can get me in trouble with it. This time it seems he could do both.

"What did you two have a lover's tiff?"

"Shut up." My cheeks are burning red. It's not because Fulvian is being a dick, although he is, it's because I know he holds all the cards to ruin everything.

"What are you talking about Fulvian?" My mother looks confused. My twin and I lock eyes over the table as I silently beg him to keep quiet but he just grins at me and opens his mouth to tell on me.

"Mom don't listen to him he's just-" I try desperately but she just shushes me.

"Francis here has got himself a little friend. He works as a fisherman at the docks. Francis sneaks out most mornings to go and meet him."

"Francis, is this true? You know it is not appropriate to be spending time with lower class citizens when you're a victor's son. What do you have in common with a fisherman anyway?" She pronounces the word like it might disease her tongue as she speaks it. Fulvian smirks triumphantly and my mother looks expectant, waiting for an explanation even though she's already decided it will be inadequate. I guess I have to try.

"Harris, he's been helping me practice so I can get a job on one of the boats too, you know teaching me how to use a fishing spear and stuff and in return I help him load the boats in the mornings." I gabble out really quickly.

"What? That's ridiculous, you don't need a job, you have all the money you need already. The very idea of you becoming a fisherman is absurd, what would people say?"

"No you don't understand." I really don't know how to explain. If I get a job, I will have my own money and I can apply to get a house by myself. In short, I can escape. But I can already feel my golden idea being tarnished by their disapproval. "I want a job so I can move out."

"Move out?" My mother lets out a little laugh. "Why would you do that? No, no you will stay right here and-"

"And what?" I yell. The silence after my shout is deafening and oppressive as I glance around nervously, scared but unwilling to take it back. My brother and mother just stare at me in shock like they've never properly seen me before. They don't know about my temper, I usually run out of the house when I get mad and throw spears for a while, imagining it's their faces, damn it they don't know me at all. "Live quietly in the shadows of your lives, just a mild nagging annoyance on your existence. I have had enough of all this happy family's bullshit! Why do you even want me to stay?"

My mother just stands there, opening and closing her mouth like a drowning fish and the silence stretches on telling me more than any of their words.

"We don't," my brother says suddenly. My mother starts to protest but he continues yelling over her getting up from the table to square up with me. "Leave. I couldn't care less."

"Now, now. Calm down, Fulvian sit down and Francis you're not going anywhere." My mother flutters nervously between us. "What would I tell the neighbours, my son ran anyway to become, what nothing more than another poor worker on the docks? No, no that won't do at all."

"Is that all you care about still? What people will think? Whatever I'm leaving." As I turn away I hear Fulvian mutter, "Good." I already know how he feels, and I thought I had accepted it but the rejection still stings.

"You can't go." My mother says quietly but firmly. I turn around to try and explain to her as best as I can that I am really going but I am shocked by the stony look in her eyes.

"I won't let you go." Her voice is like marble chips scraping together. "We will not be the laughing stock of Victors Village because you're throwing some silly temper tantrum. Your father has a reputation to uphold, the family has a reputation to uphold!"

"Reputation? Reputation? Of what being a murderer? I'm going and you can't stop me."

"Hey our father followed a righteous path to victory-" Fulvian protests.

"Do you even have a mind in there or has it been drowned by all this self righteous bullshit they indoctrinate you with at the Career academy? Wake up Fulvian, the arena is going to be worse than you can possibly imagine and you will probably die." I stare at his blank eyes searching for some untainted part of his mind that sees the truth in my words.

"Just because you're too much of a coward to become a Career yourself."

"Not wanting to kill people unless I have to is not being a coward."

"Hey I'm just telling you what dad said."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. It was my first day at the Career academy and for some reason I still cared enough to miss you. I said, 'Dad, dad why isn't Francis coming too?' and he said, 'Because Francis is a coward but not to worry because I would make up for you.' That's what I've been doing my whole life making up for the disappointment you are to us all!"

I stare at him my mind reeling. I remember those days, when we were ten and Fulvian kept begging me to go to the academy with him and I wouldn't. We were close then, before the academy filled him up with their propaganda, before he found new Career friends who encouraged him to think what he was doing was right, and before being the absolute best at everything went to his head. A coward, a coward? Just for not wanting to be one of their Career clones with no mind of their own, just for not wanting to become like him. He was long lost to me so I turned away and left.

"You won't have any money, you don't have anywhere to go. You won't get your silly job either, I'll have your father use his influence with the Capitol officials to make sure you'll never work in District 4. You'll have no choice but to come home eventually."

I close the door on my mother's words and run as fast as I can away from the house, from Victors Village, and then nowhere in particular but just running away. As the initial anger and hurt faded the stupidity of what I had just done started to sink in. I had left all my things at the house, not that I owned anything particularly special, but there were essential things I had left behind in my quick flight. Food, clothes, money; I had none of these things.

I slow to a jog then just aimlessly wander around District 4. It's a big place, but somehow I still find myself gravitating towards the shoreline and the empty docks. I guess it's because in my mind it's the place I associate with Harris and consequently calmness and understanding. We may be the same age but he always seems to radiate a kind of wise vibe and he ever seems to know what to do. But the problem is Harris isn't here right now, he and everyone else who works on the boats are gone, sailed away into the ocean and won't be back with their haul until just before the reaping. I suppose I'll just stick around here for awhile and wait.

The wooden boards creak as I sit down on the edge of boardwalk feet dangling into space. Unfortunately, the sparkling ocean is not enough to calm me down and the familiar salty air is not going to feed me or clothe me or find me somewhere to live. I try to regain some control on the situation; I still have the plan, although I'm having to instigate it earlier than I thought I would. Get a job is the first stage of that plan; I'll have to talk to one of the Capitols job assignment officials for that. As for getting a place to live, it would take several months if not longer to organise that. I suppose I could ask Harris to let me stay at his place for now, but his house is already full to the brim with his five younger siblings and besides, he's already done too much for me.

The very first time we properly met, about two years ago, he stopped Fulvian and his gang of conceited Careers beating the crap out of me. I was pretty messed up at the time, ignored by my family but forbidden from making friends with any decent people, but he made me see that there was a possibility of escape. He promised to help train me so I could get a job and escape from my family; at the time Harris had been a couple of weeks away from finally getting a job himself and dropping out of school. But Harris getting a job was no surprise considering everyone on the male side of his family had been anglers before him. I on the other hand, the only skill I could offer was running quite quickly when chased by my brother's gang, and that isn't particularly helpful skill for a fishermen. But after all this time I think I can use the fishing spear at least as well as Harris and I think perhaps I'm slightly better with nets than him, not that he would ever admit it. But without him I would have had no way out, I would have gone crazy. I can't ask him to help me anymore, it wouldn't be fair. I feel close to crazy right now though. I had not meant to start my new life in a panicked state, jobless and homeless. Oh God, I'm really homeless, I lean my forehead on the railing pressing into the cold metal like it could somehow numb the mess of emotions in my mind and help me see some clarity.

The sound of someone's approaching feet pounding purposefully into the wooden boards makes me open my eyes to the glare of the sun again. White peacekeeper boots are all that are visible in my line of sight and I just watch them for a while before I really wake up. Then I leap to my feet because, as if my wish had been personified, the green badge on his left pocket tells me this is not just any peacekeeper, this is one of the Capitol's job assignment officials.

"Um, hi, sir can I talk to you for a second?" Hi? What the hell was I saying? This wasn't some genie in the bottle that was going to grant me a job because I wanted one, this was a peacekeeper who has no reason in the world to help me out. But for some reason I feel like this coincidence means the world is on my side, and I've got to at least try.

"Yes?" He sounds not pleased to be interrupted on his break as he impatiently pushes up his visor so he can glare more directly at me.

"Are there any, um, vacancies for fishermen at the moment?"

"You have to go to the jobs assignment office for that kind of thing." He is already flicking his visor back on and starting to walk away as I hurry after him.

"Wait, please. The office is closed today and I really need to find out soon and I just-" I can hear the desperation in my own voice and know I've blown it. Then he stops walking and glances at me again like he's seeing something different. I just stare back confused.

"I know you from somewhere. Fulvian? Something with an F?"

"Francis, Fulvian's my brother," I answer hesitantly, eying him like he's suddenly going to arrest me for running away from home. But I'm pretty sure he can't do that, if he even knows, which in all likelihood he won't. All the same, my feet position themselves to leg it at a moment's notice.

"Right, right, the twins. Your dad's a victor isn't he? I've been to a few parties at your house, very hospitable family. Very hospitable indeed." He smiles distantly like he was remembering some cherished memory before shaking himself slightly to return to reality. "Right I'll see what I can do."

I couldn't believe my luck, finally being a victor's son is actually helping me with something. This particular Capitol worker must have been at one of the lavish parties my parents throw to suck up to the peacekeepers and generally show off their wealth. The officer whips out some kind of portable information device with a glowing screen he taps away at. I fidget nervously in the silence while I wait; hoping against hope there is something.

"Right, there is-" A loud bleeping noise interrupts him. He frowns at the device for a few seconds, looks up at me, frowns at the device again then shuts it off all together and puts it away.

"I'm sorry there are no current jobs available in the fishing sector." His voice has switched from vague familiarity back to corporate clone.

"But you just said-"

"I was mistaken." He gives me a brisk nod and turns away.

"Fine not fishing. Anything, do you have anything?" I follow him, I would take anything right now, even gutting fish in one of the factories, but I already know what his answer will be.

"None at the moment, I'll let you know if-"

"Check your device, you haven't checked your device-" I block his way now, knowing I'm treading dangerous ground but I can't stop myself.

"Son, I'm going to have to ask you to take a step back-" In his tone of voice is a warning, his hands twitch at his weapon.

"Let me check it then-" I make a lunge for the device sticking out of his pocket as if by proving this lying man wrong I can somehow solve all my problems. But his patience has been spent and he grabs my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back making me freeze in agony.

"Go home son." He pushes me roughly away leaving me bent double and gasping for air as he walks briskly away adjusting his visor.

"You can tell my dad he can fuck off!" By the time I get enough air to shout he is probably too far away to hear anyway but I get some odd looks from the few passerby's and disrupt the seagulls from their perches. A kind of pounding fever has taken over me as I glare around at the onlookers, breathing heavily, before turning on my heel and getting the hell out of there.

I head up hill, past the houses and the docks, to the edge of the district where the squat factories sit and the dusty grass ends sharply in cliffs high above the waves. The district parameter is visible in the distance when I finally stop, red in the face and clutching a stitch. The path follows a few metres away from the cliff edge, there is no fence, apparently one of the few things the Capitol are okay with is us doing is falling to our deaths. I sink to my knees in the scratchy grass letting out tearless angry sobs.

What am I going to do now? If I thought the situation this morning was bad, now it had hit a new level of desperate. Without a job, I have no plan, no possible way to try and support myself, in short no life. Unless I go back. No, no I'd rather die. I'd rather slowly starve to death on the streets of 4, the next time I'd go in that house again would be as a corpse. Because my life is nothing in that house, worse than nothing. I imagine crawling pathetically back to my smug parents with no hope for a better future and no company but Fulvian. Maybe it would be better to end this quickly, today. I turn my head slowly to stare at the edge of the cliff top, the only way out of 4 that was not guarded by an electric fence. I get up from my knees and edge closer, feeling the wind battering me as if it was driving me forward, agreeing with me. There was no fixing this situation now, nothing I could be but a permanent burden on my only friend.

I spread my fingers to feel the rushing wind and stare one last time at the place where the sea fades into the sky until my tear-distorted eyes can't really tell the difference anymore. It seems an appropriate day to die when twenty three other young people will be condemned to death today. Except they won't have chosen it.

"Hey you, boy! What are you doing so close to the edge?"

The rough voice of the aged factory worker almost makes me fall off the cliff accidently as I jump out of my skin. I should do it quickly before she can stop me.

"Don't you know it's almost one o' clock? You'll be late for the reaping! Stop messing around and get to the town square now. Imagine if today you're the one who's called and you're not there. Then there will be hell to pay."

The old lady starts to hobble away. What does it matter if they call my name? I've already decided I'm going to die. My foot dislodges some rocks and they fall sickenly into the emptiness making me gasp another quick sob. Then I freeze. Not physically, but mentally, because a crazy idea has just popped into my head. But considering the fact I am waiting to throw myself of the edge of a cliff, nothing seems that crazy anymore. I could volunteer for the Hunger Games. I'm going to die either now or later and this way I could at least take the place of whatever poor kid is reaped, and maybe, just maybe, there is even a chance I could win. As a victor, well I'd have my own house, freedom, I could even leave District 4 if I wanted. The future suddenly spreads dizzyingly out in front of me again. It's either death or a slim chance of not dying. It dpesn't take me long to decide. I take one last look down at the jagged rocks beneath the bottom of the cliff, turn, and run.

"Hey mind where you're going!"

I push past the elderly women as I run back down the path driven on by something that was not quite hope, but maybe a desperate last chance. I am running flat out pounding my way from the edge of the district to the centre, willing my feet to run faster and get there on time. Factories, then houses, then shops all fly past me in a blur of rushing wind and the sound of my own galloping heartbeat.

When I finally skid round the corner into the square, I find the huge clock ticking away the time to the reaping says it's still a minute to one. I sprint forward to join the last few people getting registered, panting and sweaty, running one shaking hand under my eyes to wipe away the tears there and throwing my hair back off my sweaty forehead. I barely notice the pain when the peacekeeper takes the blood sample but I do notice all the looks I'm getting. Everyone is in their most formal attire and here I am sweaty and disheveled no doubt with grass stains on my jeans and tear streaks on my face.

As I slow to a fast walk to my place with the other seventeen-year-olds, I glance around nervously for any sign of my family. I catch sight of my mother, thankfully out of reach with the other parents, looking furious. No doubt it's my appearance and what-would-people-think instinct kicking in that's bothering her. Next to her is my father, I don't even dare meet his glare. I buzz nervously as the reaping begins; first there's the video shown every year echoing around the silent square. It's all about strength and the great honour of being a tribute. I don't feel very strong as I wait for the moment I can yell the fateful words 'I volunteer'. I imagine my father's face when his 'coward' of a son volunteers and let out a little laugh. I don't suppose he'll be pleased; I'm hoping for shock and horror. Everyone around me looks at me as if I've gone crazy as the out of place noise slips from my lips; well maybe I have.

District 4's escort Damian Rivers steps forward to the microphone as the last of the film's music fades away, his high heeled boots tapping a lazy rhythm on the stage. This year he's all in purple which contrasts badly with his orange Capitol tan. From the scaly material, his suit is made of and the fins he's sporting I assume his outfit is representing some exotic fish never seen here in 4, where fish is caught for eating not decoration. He is talking so slowly it's painful; why can't he just skip the spiel of Capitol catchphrases we hear every year and get on and call the names already. I tap out a nervous rhythm on my jeans as if I can somehow will him to speed it up.

"Shut up."

An angry whisper comes from my left. A couple of kids along stands my brother looking venomous. My heartbeat reaches a sickening new height but I force myself to stop my hands and focus instead on the stage; it's time for the girls.

"Now for the moment you've all been waiting for, which lucky lady will be chosen to take part in the Hunger Games this year?"

I scan the girl's side of the square, hundreds of faces one of which would soon be my competitor. Will it be some trembling child or a viscous Career? The answer to this could change the outcome of my Games. The paper crackling in the microphone as Damian unfolds the slip slowly for dramatic purposes pulls my attention back to him.

"Zoe Sorenson," he calls triumphantly, showing his teeth in something that doesn't have enough emotion to be called a smile. My eyes flicker over the crowd searching frantically until I see the movement of a stunningly beautiful girl looking slightly nervous step out of the mass of faces. It feels like such a waste for such beauty to die so young but as her quiet footsteps ring out in the square she keep her eyes down, and she doesn't seem quite as scared as she should be considering she's no Career.

"Any volunteers?"

She is standing with a quiet elegance next to Damian now, still looking too relaxed. I search the rest of the crowd trying to see if the reason she's not scared is because-

"I volunteer."

My stomach sinks as Zoe steps off the stage. The girl who had spoken steps out into the path to the stage hesitantly. A mass of curly red-brown hair obscures her face as she moves forward to embrace Zoe. She must just want to save her friend, the stirrings of pity manage to penetrate the layers of emotion I am feeling right now, but just as I am starting to reconsider I realise I recognise her pale features. She's a Career. As she tells Damian her name with a shaking voice and the camera's magnify her tearful face on the huge screens, I know there is something else going on besides saving her friend. It just seems a little calculated to me; besides, you can never trust a Career. The drama momentarily distracts me from my nervous anticipation and with a jolt of surprise I realise it's the boys turn already.

"Jan Fitson," Damian calls. The boy who won't be going into the arena steps forward from somewhere behind me in the lower age brackets. I watch him walk up to the stage looking more than a little scared. I could just let him do it. I could just keep my mouth shut and go back to, to what? No, I have no choice.

"Any volunteers?" Damien asks hopefully, probably worried he'll ended up with the duff tributes this year. There's a few beats of silence as the boy called Jan stares desperately out into the pitiless crowd.

"I volunteer," I yell with determination before I can give myself a chance to change my mind.

The only sound for a moment is the shifting of fabric and shoes as everyone around me turns to stare. Face upon face of confusion, anger and sometimes even concern surround me, but no one looks worse than Fulvian as I have to push past him to make my way to the stage. There is something more sinister than anger in his expression, something more deep founded, but there is nothing he can do now. There is nothing anyone can do now. My heart is beating out of my chest and a strange feeling of elation takes over me. That's it, decision made, it's out of my hands now. I was going to do this, I know I can do this and if I can't well it's too late to change my mind now. I finally ascend to the stage amongst the growing noise of whispers, which are quickly stifled when Damian starts to speak.

"Wonderful." He gives me one of his typically meaningless smiles. When he turns to face me I can see where his makeup has collected in his wrinkles and little beads of sweat have formed from the hot sun. "What's your name?"

From up here I can see the whole square of faces staring up at me at once. I can see most of District 4 too in the background, from the cliff tops to the beach, and they all seem to be telling me I am doing the right thing. Somewhere far away I'm telling him my name. My drifting eyes search the landscape in front of me, savouring the moment, the beginning of a new life, because anything surely would be an improvement on my life before. The roar of the crowd confuses me, it sounds like the ocean rushing in to wash everyone away, until I notice that it's the hands of the people of 4 making the noise. I then have to shake hands with the girl I will shortly be trying to kill and then before I know what's happening we're being ushered away into the cool hallways of the justice building. I'm pushed into one room and the girl with the calculated tears into another before we even get to do so much as exchange a word.

The first thing I notice about the room is how similar it is to the living room of what used to be my house. It shares the same Capitol style of lavish furnishings and gives me the same oppressive trapped feeling. The second thing I notice is the only window is frosted into white blankness like nothing else exists outside this room. I can't help pacing the circumference of the room like a caged tiger, still too hyped up to sit down. Thumping footsteps on the other side of the door accompanied by angry yells make me stop. I slowly back further away, eyes locked in on the door. I haven't blinked for so long I'm seeing stars when the it bursts open like it too is unforgivably angry.

"What the hell do ya think you're doing?" My dad bursts into the room a force of visibly trembling anger. The room seems to shrink with his arrival and the air gets harder to breathe. My mother closes the door quietly behind them.

"I, I just-" I stutter out but he cuts right over me.

"First all this ridiculous shit this morning about getting a job, a job you think I'd fucking let you work like you were the son of some common wretch? And now you've determined not only to make fools of us all in front of District 4 but the whole of Panem!"

Each word is spat out with a venom I would have not thought possible.

"Volunteering. Volunteering when you're not even trained! You know next to nothing for Christ's sake you'll be dead in seconds. How do you think that will reflect on me, how do you think I, the best fucking victor 4 has ever seen, will explain why my son is a useless, bloodbath tribute. Well go on, say something for yourself you spineless boy."

I don't speak. I open and close my mouth a few times. This was not how it was supposed to go. Laughing at his rage in the remote was easy enough but face to face was another matter. I thought this was over, that I had closed the door on being yelled at like I was worth less than a piece of shit on the carpet. I clutched my temples trying to block it all out, shaking my head like I could deny their very existence.

"I'm very disappointed. Very disappointed indeed." My mother's voice is clipped and short like she's so angry she can barely speak. "Did you even think about how this would affect us? I would never have thought you could be this selfish Francis. You do realise Fulvian won't be able to compete anymore because of this. The academy has many volunteers vying for a chance to compete next year and why should they give one family two chances at it, hmm? He was too angry to ever want to see your face again and honestly I feel the same but someone needed to come here and give you a piece of our mind. You have ruined his chance, the chance he earned, without a second thought!"

She turned away, letting my father finish, as if she couldn't even bear to look at me.

"You are just determined to ruin us with your eternal stupidity! How can you stand there and look me in the eye when you are trashing our family's reputations and our futures. You still haven't got anything to say then boy?"

As I look at them with their accusing eyes and complete lack of care for my well being, my future, I felt the purest hatred I have ever felt for anyone in my life. Not one trace of family love or duty remained. But I think the feeling was mutual.

"Get out." I say quietly at first.

"What?" My mother looks confused.

"I said get out!" I scream in their faces standing up to my full height, which is actually a few inches taller than my dad.

"How dare you use that tone with me, how dare you command me. I am you're father and-"

"No you're fucking not. You are not my fucking father anymore!" I yell so loudly my voice cracks. I'm as red as him now as we stand face to face, toe to toe. He breaks eye contact first.

"Maybe your right. Yeah maybe your right." He turns away carelessly grabbing my mother's arm and pulling her roughly behind him to the door. He shoves her through first before turning to spit his final words over his shoulder. "I'm telling you this, son, you better find somewhere else for them to send your coffin after you die, 'cause it sure as hell ain't going to be under my roof."

I rush forward and slam the heavy door on my last sight of him walking away, mother in toe, the speed of the closing door too slow for me. I want to hurry up and never see them again. The encounter almost makes me rethink trying to win this. But I will damn well not give them the satisfaction of being right. They have no idea who I am so it only follows they have no idea that I am capable of winning this. I know I am.

I am actually trembling with anger, facing away from the door, palms of my hands pressing stars into my eyes battling the coming tears. I've barely been alone for a minute when the door opens again. I'm on the defensive, thinking they've returned to wound me further or maybe even Fulvian has decided to come in and beat me to a pulp after all. But my face relaxes as soon as I see the familiar back of Harris closing the door carefully behind him like it was made of china. He looks so pleasantly out of place in the plush and expensive rooms of the justice building with his old black boots leaving a slight trail of dirt on the carpet.

"Harris thank God you're here." I gabble in one breath. "My parents were just here and it was awful and they were so mad at me and-"

"Wait a moment. What makes you think I'm not just as mad too?" Harris' voice is full of a repressed anger I have never heard there before. I falter.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Francis? Are you crazy? You know you can't win this, right?" He yells the words I have already heard once and it pushes me over the edge. Tears start falling uncontrollably from my stinging eyes as I angrily try and brush them away turning away from him. I expected it from my parents, I could expect it from everyone but not Harris. I sob silently shoulders shaking for maybe a minute before I hear a resigned sigh and Harris shifting his feet awkwardly.

"Hey. Hey, I didn't mean to...please don't be upset." I feel his warm hand on my shoulder as I struggle to control my sobs. "I just don't understand, Francis. You hate Careers and everything they stand for and now you go and do this? I just don't get it. You were so close to getting that job, we were going to go to the assignment office this weekend remember? Why are you throwing away your life in some sick Game?"

"Because I haven't got a life to throw away anymore." My voice is thick with sobs as I turn to face him. "It all, it all went wrong. Fulvian found out and he told my mother and then we had this huge argument and she said I couldn't do it. I went to the docks and talked to the job assignment officer but my father had already told him not to let me have one and I didn't have anywhere to go and I didn't know what to do."

Spilling everything I've been holding inside all day is too much and I'm crying too much to continue now. Harris walks over to the other side of the room to get me a glass of water. A few seconds later, I am gulping water between sobs. When I'm coherent, and the sobs are more like little hiccups he continues his questions.

"So why did that mean you volunteered?"

"Because if I win this, I'll have everything. I can have my own house and I can leave for the Capitol forever if I want and I'll never have to see any of them ever again." I try to explain the desperate vision in my mind.

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. There are a thousand other solutions before volunteering! You could have stayed with me-"

"You really don't have the room." He considers for a second before shaking his head free of my logic.

"Maybe your right about that but for god's sake we could have figured something out, anything, anything would be better than this!" He sweeps his hand across the room as if he can encompass this whole situation.

"It'll be okay." I try for a smile. He looks so upset right now I can't bear it.

"If you win." He says hollowly.

"I will win. You know I can win." He looks doubtful. It panics me. "I need you to believe I can win because I f you don't I don't think I can-"

I'm clutching my head again finding myself climbing to the hysterical once more.

"Alright, alright." He pulls my hands off to my head to my sides once more. "I believe you can win. I mean you have to win now. You have to come back."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. A weight lifts off my heart that I didn't even know had been there, and I'm on the road to calm again. With his simple Harris magic, he has brought me back to sanity again.

"Of course I do."

"Good then. Agreed." He somehow finds a grin to plaster onto his face one last time. Now that all the explanations are over, I realise I just want to have one last normal conversation with him before everything changes.

"Harris you know-"

"Times up." A peacekeeper opens the door abruptly and I am panicking once again because it's over and I don't want to be alone again.

"It's okay you'll be okay." Harris calls back to me trying to remain calm for both of us although he looks a bit panicked himself as he's ushered and pushed out of the door. "You promised."

"Harris!" I call after him but the door is closed between us before he can respond, and the last glimpse I catch of him is through the gap between two white suited peacekeepers a brave smile still stretched across his face. But a promise is a promise so I will be seeing him again after all this is over. After I have won.


End file.
